


Fifteen Years of Heartache

by mondlichtmaus



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Teachers, CW: Family Member In Hospital, CW: Passive-Aggressive Transphobia, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Trans Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21792256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mondlichtmaus/pseuds/mondlichtmaus
Summary: Crowley was roused from his nap by the sound of somebody opening the door. He didn't move. Maybe they would go away."Excuse me?" someone called.They weren't going away. Crowley rose, lifting his head to squint at the intruder. A broad figure, silhouetted by the light of the hallway. He couldn't make out his face, eyes still bleary from sleep. Just a halo of light framing his head."What?" Crowley grumbled.There was a moment of silence, then the intruder spoke again."Anthony?"-They're teachers. They're in love. They're oblivious.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 109
Kudos: 296
Collections: Ineffable AUs





	1. I Don't Want To Get Over You

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't have written this without my partner and actual angel on earth (cornthea), who helped me through and probably actually wrote at least a third of this. 
> 
> I've been working on this for a couple of months. I don't write often, but something possessed me to see this through to the end. I hope you enjoy it. Thank you ❤️
> 
> Next chapter in a few days?

It was the worst part of the year: the end of summer. Back to school. Back to work. Crowley grumbled to himself as he made his way to his classroom. It wasn't even September yet. He didn't see why he had to spend the last day of August at work. Well, he did - if he didn't prepare for the start of term now he'd regret it on Monday - but he didn't like it. 

Crowley slumped down at his desk. He also didn't see why he had to be there so early. His sleep pattern had somewhat shifted over the summer - he hadn't seen many mornings since July. It would have been smart to slowly ease himself back into rising early. He hadn't done that. 

Crowley looked at the piles of papers on his desk and yawned.

-

Aziraphale fidgeted with his tie nervously. He was early. He thought it was probably a good idea to be nice and early on his first day, but as he sat waiting in the school's office, he regretted giving himself so much time to think. A new school meant new students, and new colleagues. Meeting new people was always nerve-racking.

A woman that Aziraphale recognised as the headmistress mercifully interrupted his thoughts. 

"Welcome, Mr Fell," she said warmly, offering a handshake.

Aziraphale stood quickly. "Good morning, Ms Francis. Lovely to see you in person," he said, as brightly as possible given how nervous he was, and shook her hand. 

The headmistress wasted no time in dragging him off for a tour of the school, starting with his classroom. It was a nice room, nice and big, the walls currently bare and ready to be decorated by the new class. It even had an old blackboard next to the interactive whiteboard. Aziraphale was almost embarrassed at how much that had excited him. 

They made their way around the school together, the headmistress introducing him to as many other teachers and staff members as possible. It was getting a bit tiring for Aziraphale, meeting so many people at once, shaking so many hands. But it was what he was here for this morning, and he was determined to make a good first impression. He wanted to be  _ liked _ , rather than tolerated, for once. 

They stopped at a classroom, the last of a cluster of rooms towards the end of the hallway. 

The headmistress glanced at her watch. "Oh, I'm sorry, I've run a bit over time, I have somewhere to be. Would you mind introducing yourself to the last teacher?" 

She gestured at the classroom door. It was closed.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to agree, but the headmistress was already on her way.

He was nervous. He'd already been introduced to so many people today, it really shouldn't have been a big deal, but something about having to introduce  _ himself _ was more daunting. He knocked politely on the door. No answer. He knocked again, then slowly opened the door.

It was dark inside, but in the light of the hallway Aziraphale could see a figure slouched over the desk, head resting on his arms. He was asleep. 

"Excuse me?" Aziraphale called.

The figure stirred, then rose, squinting at Aziraphale groggily. "What?" The figure grumbled, sweeping his hair from his face. It shone red, even in the low light.

Aziraphale recognised that voice, and that distinctive red hair. But that was ridiculous. It would take an absurd coincidence to have brought him here. But then again, from school, to university and beyond, they'd always had a habit of bumping into each other like this.

"Anthony?"

-

Crowley was roused from his nap by the sound of somebody opening the door. He didn't move. Maybe they would go away. 

"Excuse me?" someone called. 

They weren't going away. Crowley rose, lifting his head to squint at the intruder. A broad figure, silhouetted by the light of the hallway. He couldn't make out his face, eyes still bleary from sleep. Just a halo of light framing his head.

"What?" Crowley grumbled. 

There was a moment of silence, then the intruder spoke again.

"Anthony?"

The light turned on abruptly, and Crowley grumbled, shielding his eyes from the sudden brightness. "Ugh, Jesus."

"Not quite," said the figure. A figure that, in the light, suddenly looked very familiar. Soft lines, warm colours, blond curls. A bloody tartan tie.

"Aziraphale?" Crowley asked, hurriedly fixing his hair.

"Hello, Anthony." Aziraphale waved weakly. 

"What the f- uhh- heck?" Crowley caught himself, just about. He was working extra hard to make this a good 'first impression' after being caught sleeping on the job.

"Nice to see you, too."

"No, ugh, it  _ is _ nice to see you. Just. What are you doing here?" Crowley stood up, now eye to eye with Aziraphale.

"It looks like I'm your colleague." 

Crowley just stared at him. He had so many questions.

Aziraphale held up his lanyard emphatically and smiled. 

"Why here?"

"The first place that would have me," Aziraphale explained simply.

"Ok but why did you come back? What about Cambridge?"

"There was nothing for me there," said Aziraphale flatly.

"Oh, did your parents move?"

"No."

Crowley snorted. He'd ask about that another time. "And when were you gonna tell me you were back in London?" 

Aziraphale was flustered at that. He didn't want Crowley to take it personally, he'd just wanted to get settled in first. 

"Well I only moved in a few days ago. I still haven't unpacked properly."

"I could help you," Crowley said without thinking. Why did he say that? It sounded like hard work, which he wasn't exactly a fan of. 

"Oh. That's very kind of you, but I wouldn't want to be a bother." How to say 'I don't trust you with my precious material possessions' in the most polite way possible?

"Nah, I've got nothing else to do tomorrow."

There was no polite way to get out of this. Oh well. It was Crowley. He'd probably get bored of 'helping' within ten minutes and then they could just talk. 

"Well, it would be nice to catch up." 

"Exactly. Where is it?"

"Is your mobile number the same? I'll send you the address."

"Yeah. Great."

Crowley tried to hide his smile. His day had suddenly got a lot better. And the promise of seeing Aziraphale every day made the idea of coming back to work a lot more inviting.

-

After a stressful first day of meeting people and organising things for his  _ real _ first day, Aziraphale didn't particularly want to come home to a flat full of boxes. Such a mess. But not the good kind, not  _ his _ mess, where he knew where everything was. This was just a mess. He hoped he could clear it tomorrow. He might even get some help from Crowley. 

Oh, Crowley. Aziraphale had honestly hoped he'd have had more time to prepare before getting back in touch with him again. His life was a bit of a mess right now and he'd wanted to have more positive things to tell him. 

And then there was the crush. Perhaps 'crush' wasn't a strong enough word. The reason he'd left London in the first place. His unrequited feelings were too much to bear when the object of his affections was in front of him all the time. So he'd left, thought his feelings might go away if they weren't close anymore. Thought being with his family would be comforting. He was wrong on both counts. In the end he'd decided that it was better to be platonically close to Crowley, even if it was painful, than to be without him completely. So here he was. Three days back in London, and already getting himself in a mess over seeing him again. 

-

Crowley sat on his sofa, fidgeting anxiously. Aziraphale was back. Something he had fantasised about happening since he'd left. But he hadn't imagined it would happen like this. Crowley had hoped maybe Aziraphale would turn up on his doorstep some day and declare his undying love for him. Instead he'd caught him sleeping at his desk like they were teenagers again. Not very suave. 

And for some reason he'd volunteered to spend his precious final weekend of the summer holidays unpacking with him. The second worst job after packing. He'd be dreading it, if it wasn't for the 'with him' part. That part made his heart flutter.

-

On Saturday morning Crowley spent an entirely normal amount of time picking out his clothes, and definitely didn't fuss over his hair for so long that he was almost late. 

He turned up at Aziraphale's door only ten minutes later than planned, and handed him a gift bag holding a bottle of inexpensive wine. 

"What's this?" Aziraphale said curiously.

"A little house-warming gift. Don't get excited, it's nothing special."

Aziraphale eyed the label, confirming that it was, indeed, nothing special. "That's very kind of you." He motioned for Crowley to come in. "I'd say make yourself at home, but it's not really a home just yet."

Crowley only took a few steps in before Aziraphale nudged him. 

"Shoes."

"Psh." Crowley slipped his shoes off.

Aziraphale gave him a brief tour, though there wasn't much to see. A sofa and an armchair surrounded by boxes and empty bookcases in the living room. A small kitchen full of boxes, and a few unpacked essentials. At least there was a bed in the bedroom, tartan quilt laid out so immaculately Crowley couldn't believe anyone actually slept there. But that was also surrounded by nothing but boxes. They had a lot of work to do. 

Crowley worked on the living room while Aziraphale took the kitchen. It had taken some persuading for Aziraphale to trust Crowley with his living space, but Crowley's argument that he would do much more damage in the kitchen was convincing enough. Crowley worked surprisingly hard, and Aziraphale appreciated that, even though he would be moving several things to their Right Places once he'd gone. 

Once they'd finished with their respective rooms, they worked on the bedroom together, though at this point it was mostly Aziraphale working and Crowley splayed out on the floor, looking at something on his phone. At least, that's what he was pretending to be doing, instead watching fondly as Aziraphale carefully unpacked his perfectly folded clothes and hung them all up neatly. His style (if you could call it that) hadn't changed at all. 

With most of Aziraphale's possessions now unpacked, and the flat looking much more like a home, they decided to take a break. The perfect time to open that bottle of wine. Crowley slumped down on the sofa like he owned it, not that Aziraphale minded. He was glad that Crowley still felt so comfortable with him, like nothing had changed. As there was precious little space for him on the sofa amongst Crowley's splayed limbs, Aziraphale took the armchair. Wine was poured, and, despite it being "nothing special", enjoyed.

Crowley decided it was time to press some more about why Aziraphale came back. "So. What happened with your parents, then?"

Aziraphale sighed. Nothing had happened, as such. There was no incident. He'd just had enough.

"You know my mum's always had certain… expectations of me?"

Crowley nodded. Aziraphale's mother had always been an expert in denial.

"It got worse after I turned thirty. "When are you getting married?" and so on."

"What did you say?" 

"Well, who am I supposed to marry?" Aziraphale paused, then added, "and she said "Val's daughter is very nice.""

Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Exactly. We know that's not going to happen. She knows. But she won't stop."

Crowley gave him a sympathetic look. 

Aziraphale sighed. "At this rate there'll never be any kind of wedding, anyway," he lamented. Since when did a small amount of wine loosen his tongue like this?

"Not going well?"

_ 'The man I love doesn't love me back and never will,' _ would have been the honest answer. "You could say that," said Aziraphale.

A wave of relief washed over Crowley. Then guilt. But mostly relief. Which was ridiculous, because he'd come to terms with Aziraphale dating years ago. Or so he told himself.

"Your standards are too high," Crowley joked.  _ 'You could always lower them. All the way down to my level,'  _ he added internally. 

Aziraphale scoffed. 

A pause. 

"What about you?" he asked, as casually as possible.

"What?"

"Have you… met anyone nice?"

Crowley made a face. "I met someone. He wasn't nice. Didn't end well."

"Speaking of standards."

"You're a real bastard sometimes, you know that?" Crowley said fondly. 

"I've obviously been around you too much."

They shared a familiar smile, and fell into a comfortable silence. Aziraphale definitely wasn't thinking of all the ways he would smite this ex-boyfriend. For hurting his friend, of course. Not because he was jealous. 

"I missed this," Crowley admitted.

_ 'I missed you, _ ' Aziraphale thought. "So did I," he said affectionately.

"It's good to have you back." 

Crowley held up his glass in a toast. Aziraphale joined him and they drank. And they drank, and talked, and laughed, and drank, until Crowley could barely keep his eyes open anymore.

"I think… it's time to go home." Crowley said reluctantly. "I need my bed." 

"How did you get here?" Aziraphale asked, apparently the more sober of the two.

"Drove."

Aziraphale looked at Crowley sternly. "And you were going to drive back? You've been drinking."

"Nah, I'll walk." Crowley stood, and wobbled, steadying himself on the back of the sofa.

"Like that? This late at night?"

"Yeah."

"Anthony."

"Look. I'm going. Bye." Crowley turned to leave.

"No, I won't have it." Aziraphale grabbed his wrist. "I'll pay for a taxi.  _ Please _ ."

Crowley melted just a little. It was the way Aziraphale said please. Not to mention the hand firmly grasping his wrist. He vowed to remember that feeling forever.

"Fine. I'll get a taxi." 

"Promise?"

"Yeah."

Immediately, Aziraphale brightened. "Good."

Crowley turned to leave again, but Aziraphale spoke up. "Wait."

Crowley turned around.

Aziraphale faltered. "Goodbye."

"Bye, Angel," Crowley said over his shoulder, turning the corner before Aziraphale could protest about the fact that he was  _ still _ calling him that. A nickname that had started as a joke in school, but had somehow stuck. It brought back a lot of memories. 

Alone again, Aziraphale wandered through his flat, enjoying how nice and tidy everything was. Not a box in sight. He came to the living room, inspecting Crowley's work. Crowley had unpacked his books while he'd been busy. Aziraphale had been very reluctant to let him do it, but he was surprised to find that the books had been very carefully arranged in alphabetical order. 

It was a mistake to let Crowley help unpack. Now everything in the flat reminded Aziraphale of him. 

Yes, having seen him again had confirmed it. He was most definitely still in love with him. 

And now he was going to be working with him. He wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse. 

-

Crowley took a taxi home, as promised. He honestly thought he could have walked, but Aziraphale wouldn't have liked that, and it was apparently physically impossible for him to do anything Aziraphale wouldn't like. 

As he stepped through his front door, he received a message. 

[Angel: Did you get home safely?]

Ridiculous.

[Anthony: No I died]

[Angel: Very funny.] 

[Angel: Thank you for your help today. Goodnight.]

Crowley smiled. Aziraphale acted like a grandma sometimes. Texted like one, too. It was somehow endearing. He thought "somehow endearing" described Aziraphale quite well in general. 

He undressed quickly and flopped into bed. Aziraphale's messages were still on his mind. He read them again. Should he reply? Aziraphale would probably like that. 

[Anthony: Night angel]

Crowley threw his phone aside and groaned. 

Aziraphale was single. Crowley shouldn't be as pleased as he was about that. Aziraphale had joked about him having no standards, but that wasn't true. He just had very specific standards. Standards that no one but Aziraphale could possibly meet, so what was the point in holding out for better? 

He sighed. He hadn't been ready for this. Hadn't been prepared for Aziraphale to suddenly come back into his life, and with him all of his unrequited feelings. It's not like he hadn't thought about him while he was gone, but seeing him in person brought all his feelings back to the surface. His mind was flooded with unrequited emotions, and he was drowning. 


	2. You and Me and the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley falls head over heels.

Crowley didn't see Aziraphale again until Tuesday. Well, he had seen him, but it was only in passing as they both rushed somewhere else. But on Tuesday, Aziraphale finally appeared in the staff room for lunch. Crowley was sitting with another teacher when he saw him, and waved him over to their table.

"May I sit here?" Aziraphale asked politely, and, in Crowley's opinion, unnecessarily.

There was a duet of polite affirmations, and Aziraphale sat. 

"Have you met Ms Device?" Crowley asked, motioning to his companion.

"Briefly," she cut in, leaning across the table to shake Aziraphale's outstretched hand. "You can call me Anathema."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Aziraphale."

"Crowley was just talking about you, actually," Anathema said.

Crowley kicked her under the table. She gave him a saintly smile. 

Aziraphale didn't seem to notice. "All positive, I hope?"

"Where were you at lunch yesterday?" Crowley asked, attempting to steer the conversation elsewhere before Anathema could reveal anything else. "I couldn't find you."

"You were looking for me?"

"Uhhh." Oh, was that weird? Well, he'd shown his hand. Time for damage control. "Yeah, I wanted some different company. There's only so much of her I can take," he said, poking Anathema. She made a face at him.

"Well, I went out to get some supplies. For crafts and things. We made self portraits yesterday and I wanted to get some decorations for-"

"You were working in your lunch break?" Crowley interrupted. "You have to stop that. You'll make me look bad."

"You seem to be perfectly capable of doing that by yourself," Aziraphale joked. 

Anathema snorted. 

Aziraphale turned to her and said, "you know where I found him last Friday? Asleep at his desk. If I'd been anyone else it would have been a  _ perfect _ first impression."

Anathema didn't seem surprised.

"So you two already knew each other, right? For how long?" she asked. 

"We've been friends since school," said Aziraphale. He smiled at Crowley, who was still pouting after being ganged up on. 

"I'm surprised he hasn't mentioned you," Anathema said, looking pointedly at Crowley. 

Crowley made a dismissive noise. He  _ had _ mentioned Aziraphale to her, but he was absolutely not going to reveal that his new colleague was the guy he'd been pining for all this time.

"But tell me," Anathema said, leaning towards Aziraphale, "what was he like at school?" 

Crowley shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like to talk about school. Aziraphale watched him carefully, and mercifully steered the conversation in another direction. 

They talked animatedly for the rest of their lunch break, about their summers, their first days back, their classes. Aziraphale gushed about his little angels, who loved to draw pictures and sat quietly for story time. Crowley told them his first goal for the year: to help this one American kid make some actual friends. Anathema was already preparing her class for Halloween, which was odd to Aziraphale. He'd never paid much attention to Halloween, but Anathema said it made the kids happy, so he made a mental note to try celebrating it with his class this year. 

Lunch together quickly became a routine. Sometimes Anathema was there, and sometimes she spent lunch with her boyfriend, Newt, who, Aziraphale learned, was also a teacher. He'd thought that having a relationship with a colleague would be frowned upon, but no one at the school seemed to care. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was relieved to hear that it wouldn't be a problem if he and Crowley- but he quickly reminded that part of his mind that it would never happen anyway and  _ stop getting your hopes up. _

Aziraphale had enjoyed this excuse to see Crowley every day. It had been less than a week since they'd met again, but it felt like he had never been away.

-

On Thursday, Crowley turned up at Aziraphale's classroom. Lunch had just started, and Aziraphale was still tidying the last of the mess away when Crowley knocked on the open door, making himself known.

"Hey," he said. "What did I tell you about working at lunch?"

Aziraphale looked up and smiled. It was always good to see Crowley. "I'm just tidying up."

Crowley grumbled in response, giving himself a tour of the classroom while Aziraphale was busy. The once bare walls were already filling up with drawings and crafts, including a display of what were apparently the students' self portraits, carefully cut out and laminated. It was terribly endearing. Then, something else caught his eye.

"What's that?" Crowley pointed at a sparkling eyesore hanging on the wall.

"Oh, it's a behaviour chart. Everyone has a peg with their name on it. They start out on the sun, excellent students move up to the star, if you're bad you move down to the cloud, and the storm cloud is for very bad behaviour."

"There aren't any students on the storm cloud."

"Yes, well, they don't like it when I put them there."

"They're not  _ supposed _ to like it, it's a punishment."

"It made one of them cry the first time and I felt terrible, so..."

"Discipline your damned kids, Aziraphale."

"Don't swear about my students."

""Damn" isn't a swear."

"It was in my house."

An awkward moment of silence.

"So you made this yourself?" Crowley asked, manhandling the chart in a way that made Aziraphale flinch on behalf of his precious creation.

"Yes, of course."

"It's  _ glittery _ ."

"Yes, and I'm rather fond of it so please don't-"

Crowley tugged the chart and it fell to the floor in a sparkly heap.

Aziraphale tutted and hurriedly picked up the glittery pile, inspecting the damage. 

"I'm going to have to put  _ you  _ on the storm cloud, aren't I?"

Satisfied that the chart was mostly undamaged, Aziraphale hung it back up, fussing over the disheveled tinsel.

"I'll cry," Crowley pouted. 

"Serves you right."

-

By Friday, Aziraphale was very much ready for the weekend. It had been an exhausting week of organisation and introductions, and frankly he was looking forward to having some time to himself. That was, until Crowley suggested they do something together. 

Feeding the ducks wasn't exactly what Crowley had had in mind, but Aziraphale had been so keen to show him this  _ lovely park _ near his flat, how could he say no? So there he was, at Aziraphale's door for the second Saturday in a row, outfit immaculately curated and loaf of bread in hand.

"You'll have to leave that behind, I'm afraid," Aziraphale said, pointing at the bread. 

"What? Why?"

"Bread is bad for them."

"They're bloody ducks."

"And bread is bad for them," Aziraphale repeated. "It's common knowledge."

Crowley huffed. "What are we  _ supposed _ to feed them, then?" 

Aziraphale pulled a bag of oats from his satchel. "These should be fine."

"Did you buy those especially?"

Aziraphale didn't answer the question. "Shall we go?"

Crowley had to admit, the park  _ was _ quite lovely. Winding paths through perfectly cut grass, ground littered with red and gold leaves, and a duck pond full of entitled ducks, who looked at them expectantly as they approached. It was nice, watching Aziraphale trying to feed all the ducks equally, making sure there was some for everyone. He was even talking to them. Because of course he was. Crowley smiled fondly. 

He gazed around the park, eyes falling on a pair of pigeons, sat together and puffed up in the cold. One was a beautiful white, and the other a sleek grey.

"Hey, it's us," Crowley said without thinking, nudging Aziraphale.

_ 'Oh,' _ thought Aziraphale.  _ 'That's cute.'  _

He smiled and threw some oats their way. A mistake. They were soon set upon by a mob of pigeons, some with no apparent concept of personal space. Aziraphale happily fed them from his hands, and, to Crowley's surprise, didn't seem to mind when a brazen few pigeons landed on him to help themselves to his oats. He turned to Crowley and smiled, and Crowley's heart swelled. Aziraphale really was kind to everyone. 

-

"Do you fancy a drink?" Crowley asked. 

"Mm, that would be lovely," agreed Aziraphale. "But where? I'm afraid I don't know the area very well yet."

"I saw a 'Spoons on the way here."

"We are  _ not _ going to Wetherspoons.

Crowley snorted. Bloody snob. 

After some quick googling on Crowley's part and lots of walking back and forth, they eventually found a wine bar that suited Aziraphale's tastes a bit better. A few drinks in, things grew quiet between them as Crowley got distracted by something apparently very important on his phone. Aziraphale watched him quietly, the way his golden eyes flicked across the screen, the way he absentmindedly bit at his lip. 

"I swear there's a barcade around here…" Crowley mumbled.

It took a few seconds for Aziraphale to process what he said, and he still didn't know what he was talking about. "A what?"

Crowley wasn't listening. He seemed to have found what he was looking for. "Yeah, it's close. Wanna take a look?"

"You'll have to tell me what it is first."

"A bar. And an arcade."

Aziraphale looked skeptical. "With video games and things?"

"Yeah."

"Anthony, you know I'm rubbish at those."

"But it's  _ fun _ . We can play together. I can teach you."

Though hesitant, Aziraphale eventually agreed thanks to Crowley's pleading eyes. He would make a fool of himself if it would make him happy. 

At the barcade, Aziraphale stared dumbfounded at the drinks menu. A list of cocktails with strange names he didn't recognise. Crowley informed him they were named after video games, and he took his word for it. He let Crowley order for him, and received a bright yellow drink with two cocktail cherries, fruity and sweet. It was rather nice. Crowley got something red and bitter. 

They wandered around, looking at the cabinets and consoles until Crowley stopped at a large cabinet with two light guns and, in Aziraphale's opinion, grisly decor. 

Crowley patted Aziraphale excitedly. "Play this with me," he begged.

"I don't know how."

"You just point and shoot. It's easy."

"I'll be bad at it." Aziraphale was running out of excuses.

"It doesn't matter. Please?"

Those pleading eyes, again.

To his own surprise, Aziraphale wasn't that bad. He was even enjoying it. Crowley was getting frustrated, though. Drinking and playing didn't seem to be a good combination for him. Eventually, he ran out of coins, leaving Aziraphale playing alone for a while, but it wasn't as fun without Crowley so he was relieved when he finally died.

Crowley smiled at him smugly. "You just enjoyed a video game."

"I suppose it was enjoyable enough," Aziraphale said, trying to hide his smile. 

-

Once again, Crowley was too drunk to drive home. And once again, Aziraphale wanted him to take a taxi.

"I am  _ not _ ," Crowley paused for emphasis, "spending another fortune on a taxi."

"Then what do you propose?" Aziraphale was somehow still verbose even in his current state. 

"I can walk," said Crowley.

They were walking back to Aziraphale's flat, Crowley swaying even more than usual. 

"No," Aziraphale said quickly.

"Then what? Not the bus.

"You can take my bike," Aziraphale offered. 

Crowley thought for a moment. It was free, and he wouldn't be trapped in a box with other drunk weirdos. "Alright."

And that was how Crowley ended up in a crumpled pile at the side of the road with a bike on top of him. 

Shit, he thought. Aziraphale should never have trusted him with his bike. Of course he would go and do something like this. Thankfully it didn't seem to be damaged, which he couldn't say for himself. Better him than the bike, he thought, as he limped home, wheeling it safely by his side.

-

Aziraphale was beginning to worry. He'd sent Crowley a quick "are you home safe?" message, but he hadn't responded. He really should be home by now. Aziraphale tried to reason with himself. Crowley had probably just fallen asleep as soon as he got home. That wasn't unusual. But there was also the possibility that he'd been hit by a bus or fallen in the river or- something. He had to call him. 

No answer. 

Oh god, he's definitely dead. 

He called again. 

"Hello?" Crowley mumbled on the other end of the line.

"Oh, thank goodness," Aziraphale sighed in relief. 

Crowley was confused. "What's wrong?"

"You didn't reply to my message, I was worried. Is everything ok?"

"Uhhh-"

That wasn't reassuring. "Did something happen?"

"Kind of." Crowley was weighing up how much of the truth to tell. 

"Anthony…"

"Sort of… crashed your bike." He was telling the whole truth, apparently.

"Anthony!"

"It's alright, the bike's fine," Crowley added quickly.

"Fuck the bike, what about you?"

Crowley was taken aback by that. He looked at his hands, bloody and sore. "Uh, ok, I think? Mostly."

"Are you hurt?" 

"A bit," Crowley admitted. 

"I'm coming over," Aziraphale said, grabbing his coat.

Crowley couldn't change Aziraphale's mind, though to be honest he didn't try very hard. 

Aziraphale was there within twenty minutes. In the doorway he looked Crowley up and down, eyeing the holes in his trousers and his bloody hands and knees. 

"Oh, just look at you. What a mess," he said, ushering Crowley to the sofa. "Did you hit your head?"

"No. I told you, I'm fine."

Aziraphale checked his pupils anyway, and his head for any sign of injury. Satisfied, he turned his attention to Crowley's hands and knees, grazed and bloody and full of pieces of gravel. Crowley winced at the touch.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he said, and pulled a little first aid kit from his bag. 

Crowley shouldn't have been surprised. 

"This is going to hurt," Aziraphale warned him, preparing some antibiotic wipes and tweezers.

It did hurt, and Crowley was very vocal about it. 

Aziraphale had to stop. Hearing Crowley in pain was tearing at his heart.

"Keep going," Crowley grumbled impatiently. 

Aziraphale looked at him. "I don't want to hurt you," he said quietly. 

"It's fine. Keep going."

Crowley yelled, and hissed, and swore, and Aziraphale found it very difficult to keep going. But Crowley was adamant that it was fine and "would you just  _ get on with it _ ." 

"You seem to know what you're doing," Crowley said between expletives. 

"You know what my little cousins were like, this isn't the first time I've had to do this."

Aziraphale picked out another piece of gravel and Crowley yelled something blasphemous.

"My little cousins were quieter, though."

It was a relief to both of them when Aziraphale finally finished, and Crowley was all patched up with neat little dressings. 

"Right," Aziraphale said, standing up and joining Crowley on the sofa, "I'm staying here tonight."

"What?"

"I said, I'm staying h-"

"I heard what you said, I mean, why?" Crowley interrupted.

"In case you need any help. You must be sore." 

"You don't have to do that, angel.

"Let me," Aziraphale pleaded. "I'd be worried sick about you if I went home." 

Crowley was too tired to argue. "Fine. You can have the bed, I'll take the sofa."

"No. You need to rest." And Aziraphale might die if he slept in Crowley's bed alone. "I'll be fine on the sofa."

Crowley grumbled, but eventually relented. He  _ was _ sore, and sleeping on the sofa wouldn't help.

They said goodnight to each other, Aziraphale assuring Crowley that if he needed anything at all he could wake him up. Crowley had no intention of taking him up on that offer, but the kindness of it gave him a warm feeling in his chest. As he lay in bed, he thought of Aziraphale's touch, gentle but firm. It hadn't been a wholly pleasant night, but that was one memory he would treasure.

It didn't surprise Aziraphale that he was the first to wake. He usually was. He'd struggled to get to sleep last night, his thoughts occupied by Crowley, and he hadn't slept particularly well, but once he was awake, there was no going back to sleep. So he occupied himself with a self-guided tour of Crowley's flat. It was sleek and tidy and minimalistic, with a whole room devoted to his house plants. They were still the most beautiful plants Aziraphale had ever seen. Crowley never would tell him his secret. 

Eventually the bedroom door opened, and out stepped Crowley in a loose T-shirt and pants, his hair a mess. He took one look at Aziraphale and immediately went back into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Aziraphale had to commit this to memory, not only because it was hot, but because it was such a rare sight. Even when Aziraphale had taken care of him post-surgery, Crowley had gone to great efforts to always look his best in front of him. It hadn't necessarily worked, but he wouldn't tell him that. 

It was another 15 minutes before Crowley came back out again, fully dressed. Aziraphale acted like it was the first time he'd seen him that morning, which Crowley was very grateful for, though he noticed that his face had gone a bit pink.

When Aziraphale made his excuses and took his bike home, Crowley tried not to show his disappointment. It had been nice having him there, being taken care of by him. Crowley curled up on the sofa, like Aziraphale had last night. At least, how he assumed Aziraphale had last night. He might have slept sitting up for all Crowley knew, or on the floor, or not at all. As the last one to wake on every occasion, Crowley had no idea. 

He grabbed one of the cushions to rest his head on, and felt something underneath it. A jumper. A beige jumper that was definitely not his. It wasn't very stylish, but it was very soft. And it was his now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my partner (cornthea) for working on this with me. It wouldn't exist without them.


	3. Everybody Knows But Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kids can be little angels. They can also be massive pains in the arse, and they're not the only ones.

[Angel: Hello, Anthony. Did I leave my jumper at your flat? I can't seem to find it anywhere. It's ecru so it should stand out among your things.]

Crowley stared at his message. Damn it, he thought, Aziraphale had noticed. He'd been hoping he could keep the jumper no questions asked. He stalled while he weighed up his options.

[Anthony: Ecru??]

[Angel: A kind of creamy beige. I was wearing it yesterday.]

[Anthony: You could've just said that]

[Angel: Why use several words when I could use just one? So, have you seen it?]

Crowley typed his reply, deleted it, then typed it again. He hit send.

[Anthony: Can't see it here sorry]

He definitely wasn't wearing it right now. And he definitely hadn't already slept in it once. It didn't feel good, lying to Aziraphale, but he couldn't give it back now. 

[Angel: Oh dear. Perhaps I left it at the bar. Thank you anyway, dear.]

Why did he have to go and be so gracious about it? Crowley would feel bad, if he wasn't so snug in his gorgeously soft new jumper that smelled just like Aziraphale. He never wanted to take it off.

-

Their lunch routine at school continued into the following weeks, and teachers and students alike got used to seeing Crowley and Aziraphale together. Outside of class, they came as a package. An odd package, but a package nonetheless.

One such lunch break, Aziraphale didn't seem to be as cheerful as usual, his smile replaced by a small frown. Crowley loved that smile. He would do anything to get it back. 

When asked what was wrong, Aziraphale turned around and presented a large patch of blue paint on the back of his jacket.

"I made the mistake of painting with children," he said, "in a vintage jacket." He paused, and sighed. "It's ruined."

Crowley was perplexed. " _ Why _ did you put kids and paint together and expect to stay clean?"

"I wore an apron," Aziraphale said. "But it only covered the front."

"You're ridiculous." Crowley stood up to inspect the stain. "Did you try to wash it off?"

Aziraphale looked at him blankly. He'd been so busy panicking, he hadn't even considered that it might come out. 

Without further discussion, Crowley dragged Aziraphale to the toilets and started scrubbing at the stain with water and a cloth. Aziraphale could feel Crowley's breath on the back of his neck as he scrubbed, light and feathery. In the mirror, Crowley hovered behind him, and Aziraphale couldn't help but think that they looked good together. Complimentary, in a way. Dark clothes against light. Soft and round against sleek and jagged. He watched his own cheeks turn pink, and decided that looking in the mirror was a bad idea. So he turned his attention to the real Crowley behind him. 

"How is it looking?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley smiled smugly and turned him slightly, so he could see his jacket in the mirror. The stain was gone. 

"Oh, Anthony, thank you."

That smile was back. Crowley was pleased with himself. Of course it came out, kids' paint is always washable. He didn't mention that, though. 

-

Aziraphale's class were drawing portraits. Not self-portraits, this time, but portraits of their friends or family. It was all a part of learning how to describe people's appearances, although really Aziraphale just liked the excuse to let them draw. At the end of the class, just before lunch, one student, Mina, handed Aziraphale her piece of paper proudly.

"Look, Mr Fell! It's you," she said with a giggle.

Aziraphale looked at the paper. Sure enough, it was him. A scribble of blond hair, blue dots for eyes, she'd even drawn the pattern of his tartan tie. And on his back, big, white wings, and a golden halo on his head. This would have been charming enough, but next to him was a figure in black crayon, black wings behind him and devil horns protruding from his red hair. Aziraphale couldn't help but smile.

He pointed at the figure in black. "Who's this?" he asked, as if he didn't know.

"Mr Crowley! Because you're friends."

"And why does he have horns?"

"My sister says he's scary."

Aziraphale chuckled. "He's nice, really."

Mina looked at him sceptically.

"Can I keep this?" Aziraphale asked.

"It's for you!" Mina said, and skipped off to join her friends for lunch.

Aziraphale did the same. 

In the staff room, he met Crowley at their usual table.

"I have something to show you," he said, and slid the drawing out of his bag. "One of my students drew… us."

Crowley snorted. "You're an angel. They actually gave you a halo, oh my god." 

"Yes, it's very sweet."

"But how come I have to be a demon?" Crowley pointed at the crayon version of him, pouting ever so slightly.

"Her sister says you're scary," Aziraphale said carefully.

"Well, I  _ am _ scary."

"I said you're nice, really."

"Shh. Don't you dare," Cowley said sternly. "I have a reputation to keep."

-

Crowley could tell that this particular group of students was going to be trouble from the start. Not in the traditional sense, but in the sense that they were curious and clever and would definitely ask too many questions. He just hoped they weren't the wrong questions. 

They'd even given their little gang a name. "The Them". It was a bit weird, but it suited them, as kids who didn't seem to fit in anywhere else. 

In this morning's registration period, they were asking questions. Someone had had their first kiss, and everyone was very curious. There was a lot of speculation going on. Crowley tried his best to ignore it, while listening out for any signs of trouble. 

"Sir?"

Crowley dreaded that word, said with that particular intonation. He readied himself.

"Yes, Adam?" he said.

"Do you have a girlfriend, sir?" Adam asked. The Them giggled collectively.

"No."

Whispers. "Do you have a boyfriend, then?" Pepper piped up.

"No."

More whispers. "But what about Mr Fell?" Adam added. "Isn't he your boyfriend?"

Crowley didn't have an answer for that. His mind was blank. Where did they get that idea?

He was still trying to think of an answer when Adam spoke again. "He is, isn't he?" Then, to the others, "I  _ told _ you."

Shit, say something quickly. "No," Crowley managed. Very convincing.

"But you're always together," said Wensleydale.

"And you  _ actually smile _ at him," added Brian.

"I don't smile," Crowley cut in, sternly.

" _ And _ Pepper's mum's friend said she saw you at the park together. Feeding the ducks," Adam added.

Bloody hell. "We're friends," Crowley insisted. 

The Them looked disappointed. 

"Are you sure?" asked Pepper.

Crowley decided it was time for a lecture on gossip.

-

Crowley spent the rest of the morning wondering whether to tell Aziraphale about what his kids had said, and, if so, how. He still hadn't come up with an answer by lunch, but Aziraphale wasn't in the staff room yet, so he didn't have to worry about it for now. He joined Anathema at their usual table. She was looking thoughtful.

"Does Aziraphale know about your crush?" she asked.

Crowley froze. Wait. What? What did she know? How?

Anathema elaborated. "You know, the guy you've been talking about all this time."

Oh. Right.

Anathema continued. ""Beautiful curls", "angelically kind", moved away and broke your heart--" She stopped. Something seemed to have clicked.

"He doesn't know him," Crowley said quickly, praying to  _ someone _ that she hadn't figured it out.

Anathema looked at Crowley. She smiled knowingly. Fucking shit, she knew. 

"Oh, Crowley. I can't believe you," she said through a grin.

Crowley's mind ran a mile a minute trying to figure out what to do. Anathema wasn't cruel, but she might try to 'help', and Crowley didn't want help. He was perfectly happy to quietly pine away for the rest of his life. At least, that's what he kept telling himself. 

"Anathema," he said. "Don't you dare."

"I think you mean, "oh, Anathema, please help me, because I'm so apparently hopeless at anything even vaguely romantic,"" she said.

"I don't need help," Crowley grumbled. "I just need you to mind your own business and keep your mouth shut."

"But-"

"I'm serious. If you say anything to him, I swear to god I'll- turn Newt."

Anathema opened her mouth to retort, but Crowley interrupted her. 

"Don't test me. I've done it before."

"That's not funny," Anathema said with a pout. 

Crowley felt a pang of guilt. "Alright. I didn't mean it." He put his hand on her shoulder. "But I'm serious. Do. Not. Tell. Him."

"Fine," she said dramatically. "But don't blame me when you die alone." 

Anathema spotted something over Crowley's shoulder and grinned. 

"Oh, Aziraphale! We were just talking about you," she chirped.

Crowley kicked her under the table again. 

"Oh dear, what have I done?" Aziraphale joked, sitting down next to Crowley. 

"Have you decorated your classroom for Halloween yet?" she asked.

Crowley breathed a sigh of relief.

Aziraphale looked guilty. "Ah, not yet," he admitted.

"You  _ have _ to! It's October now. It's officially Halloween."

Anathema was making plans to go shopping for decorations with Aziraphale, while Crowley contemplated what terrible things he must have done to deserve all of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry there's piss all of this chapter. That's just how it worked out. Next chapter on Saturday! Chapter 4 might be my favourite ✌️
> 
> As usual, big thanks to my partner and co-writer, cornthea, for being my inspiration, my beta reader and for filling in the gaps I couldn't fill.


	4. With Whom to Dance?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a bit too comfortable, and then very uncomfortable.

They'd gotten into the habit of spending time together in the evenings, sometimes while working, sometimes just relaxing. One such evening, Aziraphale was cutting out paper pumpkins for some crafts with his class, and Crowley was splayed out on the sofa, doing something on his phone. 

"Why are you doing this, again?" Crowley asked without looking up from his screen.

"We're making Halloween cards tomorrow. I thought it would be nice," Aziraphale replied.

"Can't they just draw the pumpkins? Save you the trouble."

"It wouldn't be as nice."

Crowley rolled his eyes. Aziraphale worked too hard. No-one would thank him for it. 

"And this way they get to practice gluing and sticking, too," Aziraphale added in defense.

"But not cutting."

"I'm not giving them scissors again."

Crowley snorted and turned his attention back to his phone. 

When Aziraphale had finished his task, he stood up, stretched, and tapped Crowley's knee lightly. "Wine?"

"Go on then."

Aziraphale poured two glasses and set them down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Crowley was still splayed out, leaving no space for his friend. He made no attempt to move.

"Excuse me, dear," Aziraphale said with mock politeness.

Crowley looked up at him from behind his phone. "Can't move. Too tired."

"If you don't move, I'll sit on you."

Crowley raised an eyebrow. He didn't move.

"Fine." 

Thinking about it later, Aziraphale wasn't sure what possessed him. He delicately grabbed Crowley's legs, sat down in the now vacant space, and let them drop down onto his lap. 

Crowley went stiff for a moment, then relaxed. He shuffled a little to get comfortable, his ass now resting against the bottom of Aziraphale's thigh. 

Oh god. They'd rarely been this close before, and now he was thinking about Crowley's ass and his legs were in his lap.  _ 'Book. Book. Get a book.' _

Crowley hadn't looked up from his phone during the whole ordeal, making an effort to stay as nonplussed as possible, but Aziraphale felt golden eyes follow him as he reached for his book. They were back on the screen when he settled back down.

And just like that, they were nestled together. And it was rather comfortable. Aziraphale, reading, and Crowley, doing whatever it is he does on his phone. Aziraphale wasn't sure what that was, but it must have been funny because the silence was punctuated by his occasional laughter. The weight of Crowley's legs was comforting, as was the steady sound of his breathing. 

Eventually, Crowley moved. Aziraphale made an audible whimper at the loss of the weight on his thighs, but that gave way to a small sound of surprise as Crowley curled up and leaned against his side, head resting on his shoulder. Oh. This was nice, too. 

"You're soft," Crowley mumbled. Aziraphale hummed in agreement. Crowley wasn't soft. His bony shoulder dug into Aziraphale's side, but he couldn't complain. 

Aziraphale was vaguely aware that at some point Crowley stopped looking at his phone, and the weight against his side got heavier, but it wasn't until he wanted to get up that he realised his friend had fallen asleep. 

Oh dear.

Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to wake him. He looked so peaceful, in contrast to his waking presence. No scowl. No well-practiced defences put up against the outside world. Just Crowley. 

Aziraphale smiled. He wanted to touch him, to stroke his hair, to feel the soft skin of his cheek. But that wouldn't be right. He already felt like he was seeing something he shouldn't see. 

At a loss for what else to do, Aziraphale kept reading. He reasoned that Crowley would probably wake up soon - he couldn't be that comfortable. He read until his eyelids were heavy, until he was re-reading the same sentence over and over, not quite taking it in. He dozed, head leaning against Crowley's, and finally drifted off. 

-

Crowley stirred. His neck was stiff, but his face was buried in something soft and warm. It smelled nice. Familiar and comforting. He nuzzled into it, and it moved. Aziraphale turned slightly, and Crowley froze.  _ Oh. _ He scrambled upright, hand feeling around for his phone. 8:12am. Friday. ' _ Shitshitshitshitshit' _ . 

"Aziraphale," he croaked, shaking his friend awake frantically. "Aziraphale!"

"Mm… what? Anthony?" Aziraphale seemed confused for a moment, and then it clicked, his eyes widening.

Crowley stood up. "It's past eight. We're gonna be late."

"Shit." Aziraphale quickly disappeared somewhere into the flat. 

"Shit" was right - Crowley didn't have time to go home and change, or shower, or anything. He didn't even have time to mock Aziraphale for using a bad word. He fixed his hair in the hallway mirror and attempted to smooth his clothes out. One of the benefits of having a limited colour palette in his wardrobe, probably no one would notice he was wearing the same thing.

Aziraphale reappeared, fiddling with the last few buttons of his shirt. A fresh shirt. 

"Oh come on, that's not fair," Crowley whined, gesturing at him. "Where's your sense of solidarity?"

"Just because you'll be a mess doesn't mean I have to be," Aziraphale said primly.

"Charming."

Aziraphale finished with his buttons and adjusted himself in the mirror. He grabbed his bike helmet.

"Don't bother with that, I'll give you a lift."

"Oh, well, I don't want to be a trouble."

"Don't be ridiculous. Go on." Crowley shooed him away from the mirror and towards the door. "We're late."

-

The Bentley pulled into the school car park as children were piling into the building. Good, they weren't too late. If they could just slip into their classrooms, maybe no one would notice. Crowley half expected Aziraphale to demand that they find the headmistress and apologise, but his friend seemed unusually distracted this morning. Probably didn't like having his routine interrupted.

They hurried out of the car and joined the procession of students entering the school.

"Have a good day," chirped Aziraphale as he turned to head towards his classroom.

"Yeah," Crowley grunted. Then, a moment later, "you too."

Crowley sidled through the crowds of students and made it to his classroom. Most of his tutor group were already sitting down, and he joined them, slumping into his chair.

"Good morning, Mr Crowley," they chanted obediently, then went back to chatting with their friends.

No one said anything about him being late. Perfect. 

"Sir?" someone piped up. It was Pepper. Crowley groaned internally.

"Why was Mr Fell in your car today?"

Why do kids have to be so nosy?

"Does he live with you now?" Adam chimed in. 

"My sister moved in with her boyfriend," added Brian. "My mum says it's not right. You have to get married first," he added, matter-of-factly.

"Are you and Mr Fell getting married, sir?"

Crowley could have murdered someone. Several people, actually. All sitting in front of him looking very pleased with themselves. 

"The next person to ask about it can write ten thousand words about why gossip is bad," he said sternly.

"Ten thousand??" Brian wasn't even sure he knew ten thousand words.

"Yep."

Nobody said anything else. Mr Crowley had a reputation for following through with his threats.

-

Lunch time. Crowley sauntered to the staff room, expecting to find Aziraphale waiting for him. He wasn't there yet, so he busied himself making two teas, one with cream and sugar. He felt several pairs of eyes looking him up and down, which soon disappeared when he turned around and brought the teas to a free table. 

Anathema accosted him, sitting down on the opposite chair. 

"So…" she started.

"So…?" repeated Crowley.

"You and Mr Fell arrived together this morning."

Bloody students couldn't keep their mouths shut.

"And?"

"You're wearing the same clothes as yesterday," Anathema teased, a conspiratorial smile on her face.

_ 'For fuck's sake,'  _ Crowley cursed internally.

"I'm not," he lied. 

"You  _ are. _ So, tell me everything."

"None of your business," he muttered, then immediately regretted it.

"I  _ knew _ it." Anathema was triumphant.

"Knew what?" Aziraphale asked, pulling up a seat next to Crowley. "Sorry I'm late, dear," he added, to Crowley. "Hello, Anathema."

Anathema gave them a knowing smile and made her exit. "I'll leave you two alone."

Aziraphale looked at Crowley with a puzzled expression. 

"Don't worry about it," Crowley dismissed. "How'd the crafts go?"

He knew Aziraphale could talk at length about his class, especially when crafts were involved. Once you got him started on his students, it was a job to make him stop. If it was anyone else it would be irritating, but because it was Aziraphale, Crowley could sit and listen for hours. He probably had. And like that, like every day, they talked their lunch hour away.

-

Classes were finally over, and students were stampeding through the halls in their rush to get home for the weekend. Crowley squeezed his way through to Aziraphale's classroom, where he found him talking to one of the parents. Crowley kept himself busy looking at a collection of cards on a table, all with glued-on paper pumpkins, with "Happy Halloween" scrawled on them in varying levels of legibility. He smiled. They were admittedly quite "sweet", as Aziraphale put it. 

"They're very good, aren't they?" said Aziraphale from behind him. How long had he been there?

"Dunno if I'd go that far," Crowley teased. 

"Be nice."

"I'm not nice."

"Oh, stop it." Aziraphale batted him lightly on the arm. 

"So," started Crowley. They would usually go out on Fridays after school. "Listen. I think I'd better go home tonight. Got stuff I need to do." Like shower and cry, he thought.

Aziraphale vaguely wondered what stuff he had to do on a Friday night but didn't dwell on it. Honestly, he also needed some time alone. "Oh. Yes. Me, too."

"Why don't we do dinner tomorrow instead?" Crowley offered.

"Ah, that would be wonderful." 

"Yeah. Now let's go."

"Oh? Oh right." Aziraphale had forgotten that he didn't have his bike today. 

They left together in comfortable silence, much to the delight of Anathema, who waved at them enthusiastically as they left. Aziraphale waved back, apparently oblivious of the newest bit of gossip travelling around the school. Crowley just sighed.

"Get in, angel," he said as he opened the passenger door. 

Crowley would usually drive more carefully for Aziraphale's sake, but it was Friday afternoon and he thought he might die if he didn't shower soon, so they made it to Aziraphale's flat in no time. Quick goodbyes were said, and a bit later Crowley was at home, alone.

"Sorry, guys," he murmured to his plants, misting those that needed attention. "Had a sleepover. I'll see to you before I go next time."

Next time? There wasn't going to be a next time. Last night was an accident that he was going to have to treasure forever, because it would never happen again. He couldn't get his head around how or why it happened in the first place. All he knew was that he was grateful that it did. Waking up with Aziraphale like that was like something he'd dreamed of. He was so soft and warm. Crowley wanted to hold him and never let go.

Time for that shower. Maybe he could wash the longing away. 

-

Aziraphale was home, alone. It felt strange. He spent more time with Crowley than not these days, it seemed, and now he wasn't sure what to do with himself. Something to get his mind off his friend would be good. Work had been a good distraction - it was hard to think about anything with children running around all over the place - but now his mind kept wandering back to Crowley, and the weight of his body against his own, the warmth of his breath against his neck as he slept. Oh dear. Time for a shower, he thought, since he didn't get one this morning. 

This morning. Crowley's voice was rough and husky as he roused him this morning. It felt very intimate, hearing him like that. Aziraphale wondered if he sounded like that every morning, and perhaps if he would ever find out. Oh dear. He definitely needed that shower.

The shower didn't help. If anything, it made it worse. As he towel-dried his hair, Aziraphale wondered if snuggling was something they could do more often. Was it snuggling? He couldn't think of a better word for it. He thought back to last night and the way Crowley had made himself comfortable against him. His friend should have recoiled, should have moved away. But he didn't. He'd even moved closer. Was it possible that he could--? No, surely not. But Aziraphale was fairly certain that friends didn't do that. What if Crowley did… feel the same way? It made a certain amount of sense. The thought brought a flood of warmth to his heart that radiated through the rest of his body. But, almost immediately after, there was the acidic sting of terror. What if he was mistaken? How was he supposed to find out without risking their years of friendship?

Aziraphale sighed and sank into his bed. 

-

By Saturday morning Aziraphale had made himself miserable. He woke up late, wishing Crowley was next to him, and the rest of the day was much the same way. He tried distracting himself with music, singing along to the tunes of The Magnetic Fields as he did his housework, but that only seemed to make it worse. Still, sometimes it felt good to wallow. 

A call interrupted his singing. Crowley. Oh. He'd forgotten about their plans. He answered gingerly. "Hello?"

"Hey, angel. I'm outside. You ready to go?"

Oh dear. No point in lying. "I must admit, I completely forgot."

"Oh." Crowley sounded disappointed, and Aziraphale's heart broke just a little.

Wanting to make Crowley happy again, Aziraphale spoke without thinking. "Why don't you come up here? We can open up another bottle of wine."

Aziraphale's flat. Memories of snuggles and sweet dreams. This was probably a bad idea. 

"Yeah, sure." 

The line went dead. Moments later, a knock at the door.

-

Crowley stood outside, feeling a bit dejected. It wasn't like Aziraphale to forget about dinner plans. He didn't have time to dwell on it, though, before his friend opened the door.

"Anthony," Aziraphale smiled. "Come in."

Crowley mumbled a greeting and slipped off his shoes, heading straight to the sofa. He draped himself over the cushions, taking up just a bit less space than the day before yesterday. He left an Aziraphale-sized space, in fact. 

Aziraphale retrieved the wine glasses, waggling them in front of his friend. "Wine?"

"Always."

Aziraphale poured for them both, and hesitated in front of the sofa, two thirds of which were occupied by Crowley. He looked at his friend, who looked back at him, once again with no intention of moving. A smile, and he sat down, his leg resting against Crowley's. The contact made Crowley's heart flutter. 

Music was playing. Aziraphale didn't usually play music in front of him. 

"Who's this?" Crowley asked, gesturing to the air.

"The Magnetic Fields. Do you want me to turn it off?"

"No, s'fine."

They fell into their usual rhythm, talking, drinking, laughing, with Aziraphale occasionally singing along to the songs in the background. Crowley hadn't heard him sing much before and listened, enchanted. The songs were wistful and longing, and Aziraphale matched that in his voice, making Crowley's heart ache for those emotions to be real. 

The song changed.

"Oh, I really like this one," Aziraphale said softly. 

Ukulele, and a baritone voice singing dolefully about love filled the air.

"Are they all like this?" Crowley asked dryly.

"More or less," Aziraphale smiled. He sang along quietly.

Crowley watched his friend sing, emotion in his voice and on his face. It was very beautiful. 

And then Aziraphale turned towards Crowley, blue eyes peering up at gold from beneath heavy eyelids. 

_ "And you, you look like heaven.  _

_ An angel who stepped from a dream. _

_ Seven hundred and seventy seven times lovelier _

_ Than anything I've ever seen." _

Crowley had to turn away, a sudden twinge in his throat. He blinked away the tears. Was Aziraphale singing _about_ _him_? His mind scrambled for some catch, some reason that he couldn't possibly be doing what Crowley thought he was doing. It was absurd, after all. Aziraphale, angel on earth, couldn't possibly think that of him. Bitter, mean, rotten, him. But a smaller, quieter part of his mind, a light in the mist, was screaming, _'there's no one else here. He's looking right at you.'_ But that was just wishful thinking. 

_ "The rest of life pales in significance." _

Crowley had to leave. He couldn't do this. He mumbled something unintelligible to either of them, some attempt at an excuse, and left, the door slamming unceremoniously behind him. 

_ "I'm looking for somebody with whom to dance,"  _ Aziraphale sang, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music was a big influence while writing this fic, so I've decided to include links so you can listen along if you want to. [Here](https://youtu.be/9n1AXekCOQ4) is the song Aziraphale sang, and the chapter's namesake.
> 
> Thank you to cornthea for beta reading and reassuring me while writing this chapter. 
> 
> And thank you for reading ❤️


	5. The End of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> False assumptions and misunderstandings lead to bad times.

Aziraphale slumped onto the sofa, the rest of the song echoing unheard in the background. He sighed, deep and heavy. 

He replayed the moment in his head again and again: the way Crowley had turned away in disgust, how he'd stormed out. He must have really overstepped a line. Aziraphale ran his hands over his face. Twenty years of friendship. Judging by Crowley's exit, that was probably the end of it. He'd got too carried away. He'd really thought there was a chance his feelings would be reciprocated, especially after Thursday night. But he must have misread things. What a fool he was. 

Heartbroken. Aziraphale didn't want to say the word, but there wasn't another that would describe how he felt. He thought perhaps he should call and apologise, or at least send a message to check Crowley was safe. But he reasoned that he probably didn't want to hear from him at that moment. So he stayed slumped on the sofa, the sudden weight of his limbs making it impossible to move. 

-

Crowley sat in his car, the wet streaks on his cheeks shining in the light of the lamp posts outside. 

Why did he run away? That would have been the perfect time to say something. But he couldn't. Aziraphale was his best friend. Aziraphale had been his best friend for so long. If he alienated him now, if he lost him… Crowley couldn't think of anything worse. He had to keep quiet. Heartache was better than losing everything. He hastily dried his tears with his sleeve and started the car. 

Home. Crowley slipped his shoes off and went straight to the bedroom, letting himself fall onto the sheets. He curled up, burying his face in the pillows.

Ughhhh _. _

His mind replayed the evening's events over and over. How their legs touched, and how, for the second time, Aziraphale didn't move away. And his singing, the emotion in his voice, which Crowley so desperately wanted to believe was real, and maybe, please, maybe, directed at him. 

Crowley checked his phone. Aziraphale had made a habit of texting him after he left to make sure he got home safely. Crowley pretended to hate it, but Aziraphale kept doing it anyway. Except for tonight. No text. Crowley sighed. Maybe he should message him. He got as far as unlocking his phone before he froze with a sudden realisation. Aziraphale hadn't sent a message because he was upset with him. That must be why. He did kind of walk out with no explanation, of course Aziraphale was upset. Of course, not only had he fucked up his opportunity to be honest about his feelings, he'd also gone and hurt the person he loved more than anything.

He lay there for an age, staring at the blank screen of his phone, wondering what he should do and not coming up with any good answers. He should text Aziraphale. But that might just make him angrier. It's not like Crowley had a good excuse for leaving. Not one that he was willing to tell. But not texting him might be worse. 

Crowley cursed himself. Why did he have to be such a coward? Paralysed by indecision, he curled up, and did nothing.

Sunday came and went, and he did nothing. The more time that went by, the more difficult it became for him to act, certain that anything he did would make things worse. Aziraphale hadn't contacted him. That meant he was still upset. He was probably getting more upset by the minute, but Crowley still couldn't bring himself to do anything other than sleep and hope things were somehow better when he woke up. When they weren't, he went back to sleep.

Eventually, he woke up and it was Monday. For the first time since Aziraphale had started working there, Crowley was dreading going to work. He had no idea how he was going to face him. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he didn't have to. He didn't see Aziraphale in the morning, and he wasn't in the staff room at lunch. By the end of the day, Crowley was certain: Aziraphale was avoiding him. He'd fucked it up beyond repair.

-

Crowley was early to work on Tuesday. He'd woken up early and couldn't get back to sleep. He didn't know why he'd decided to pass the time at work of all places - maybe a vain hope that he might bump into Aziraphale and everything would be fine. But Aziraphale still wasn't in the staff room, and Crowley couldn't bring himself to go to the Nursery classes to look for him. So he tried to look busy in his classroom until registration period. 

This week was Reading Week. All the kids had a book they had reluctantly picked from the school's library, and they were supposed to be reading it. As long as they were quiet Crowley wasn't really bothered what they were doing. He was busy trying to memorise the day's lesson plans.

"Sir?" said a voice.

Crowley looked up wearily.

"Did you and Mr Fell have a fight?" The voice, Adam, asked.

Crowley looked back down at his notes.

"Only, he wasn't smiling this morning, sir," continued Adam. "Or yesterday."

Crowley looked back up, visibly irritated. "And?"

"He always smiles in the morning."

That was true. It was obnoxious. He said it "helps start people's days off nicely", but Crowley didn't see why that was his responsibility. He  _ loved _ that his friend cared, but he didn't see why. 

" _ And _ you didn't eat lunch together yesterday. You  _ always _ eat lunch together," Pepper added. 

Were these kids stalking him, or what?

" _ And _ you've been extra grumpy," said Brian. 

Some part of Crowley found it touching that his students were so apparently invested in his well-being. Even after teaching for years, kids still managed to surprise him. But he had an image to maintain.

"It's none of your business," he said sternly. Then, a little more softly, "don't worry about it."

The kids had started talking among themselves, to Crowley's relief. He was content to let them slack off reading if it meant they'd leave him alone. 

He should probably talk to Aziraphale. They were making the kids worry, and that wasn't right. Crowley spent the rest of the morning wondering how he was supposed to start that conversation.

-

It was lunch time, and Crowley still hadn't thought of what to say to Aziraphale. When he got to the staff room he was surprised to find it completely empty, save for an equally baffled Aziraphale, who was busy making tea. (Crowley would later find out that Anathema had organised a meeting elsewhere and had 'forgotten' to invite either of them). Aziraphale looked up when Crowley walked in, then immediately looked back down at his mug. 

Might as well get it over with, Crowley thought. He was the first to speak. 

"The kids are saying we had a fight."

A sad chuckle. "Not quite, I suppose." Aziraphale was looking intently at the floor.

"Listen, I-"

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale cut in. 

"What?"

"I crossed a line and obviously made you feel uncomfortable, so I-"

"No - what? - you didn't do anything wrong." Crowley glanced up at Aziraphale, whose brow was furrowed in confusion. 

"I don't understand."

"Look. It wasn't your fault. Alright?"

"Then why have you been avoiding me?"

"I haven't--  _ You've _ been avoiding  _ me _ ." 

"Well, perhaps a little bit, but I  _ thought _ I'd upset you." 

Aziraphale reached out and touched Crowley's arm gently. Crowley stepped backward, recoiling from his touch. And, oh, he wished he hadn't. The look on his friend's face was heartbreaking. 

" _ Anthony _ ." 

Aziraphale really had no idea how difficult he was making things. Every little bit of intimacy, every kind gesture just made Crowley want him even more. The sofa, the sleepover, the music, everything recently had been so overwhelming and he couldn't handle it any more. He wanted to say something. He had been on the verge of letting slip his feelings so many times. But he was so afraid. 

Perhaps if Crowley been able to articulate his feelings at all, things would have gone better. As it stood, he was angry, frustrated, scared, and currently taking all of that out on his best friend. 

"Can you just. Stop being so  _ fucking nice _ ?" Crowley spat.

Aziraphale flipped from hurt to hurt and angry. "Forgive me for being nice to someone I care about."

"Ughh," Crowley groaned, curling in on himself in frustration. There it was again.  _ 'Someone I care about _ .' "Just. Shut Up.  _ Why _ do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"All those little bloody  _ nice _ things. Sitting with me like that on the sofa. Letting me fall asleep on you. And the bloody  _ singing _ . What the hell was that about?"

"I should think it was obvious," Aziraphale said quietly, heart beating out of his chest.

"Ugh." Crowley scrunched up again. Obvious? The obvious conclusion was that-- but that was absurd. No. Aziraphale couldn't feel the same way. But, Crowley thought, maybe he'd been less subtle about his feelings than he'd realised. Maybe Aziraphale was teasing him like this on purpose. "You're taking the fucking piss, aren't you?"

Aziraphale visibly flinched. The idea of them together was so ridiculous that Crowley thought it was a joke. It was silly to get his hopes up. Of course Crowley wasn't interested. How many times had he let Crowley break his heart now? He was a fool.

"Do you always have to be so vulgar?" Aziraphale snapped.

"Ooh, sorry I can't be as  _ eloquent _ as you," Crowley sniped back, mirroring his friend's intonation in a less than complimentary fashion. 

"I don't have to put up with this."

"Then don't."

"Fine." Aziraphale turned and left, his tea standing abandoned on the counter. Several students scurried away from the door as he left. 

Aziraphale was gone. Crowley was alone. At this rate, he was going to be alone for a very long time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another fairly short one this time, sorry. Next chapter is the longest one yet, though.
> 
> [Here](https://youtu.be/OWLECmUQvxU) is this chapter's namesake song.
> 
> As usual, thanks to [cornthea](http://www.instagram.com/cornthea.ig) for putting up with all my whining while I wrote this chapter.
> 
> Thank you for reading ❤️


	6. Boys Don't Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tiresome day leads to a wholesome embrace.
> 
> **There are some content warnings for this chapter and the following chapters. 
> 
> Content warnings for:  
> * Passive-addressive transphobia  
> * Family member in hospital

Crowley didn't remember much of what happened on Tuesday after his argument with Aziraphale. He spent another evening alone, feeling worse than ever. Now Aziraphale was  _ definitely _ upset with him. His attempt to make things better had gone about as wrong as it could possibly have gone. And, worse, his students were still talking about it on Wednesday morning. 

"Is Mr Fell still angry at you, sir?" asked Adam.

"'S none of your business. Don't you lot have books to read?" Crowley snipped.

Apparently their teachers' interpersonal drama was much more interesting than any of their books, because they were all looking up at Crowley expectantly.

"Alright. Yes. He's still angry."

"You should say sorry," said Pepper. "That's what my mum says when I hit my sister."

"You shouldn't hit your sister," Crowley chided, more out of obligation than anything. 

" _ You _ shouldn't be rude to Mr Fell," Pepper countered. 

Belligerent pain in the arse. Crowley couldn't help but respect that. He gave her a cold stare. She wasn't wrong. 

"Anyway, you  _ should _ say sorry," Adam said, filling the silence diplomatically.

"When my mum's angry at my dad, he gets her presents," Brian piped up. "Like flowers and chocolates. And a card."

The others looked at Brian, then at Crowley triumphantly. The perfect plan.

Crowley was sceptical. "That's enough. Get back to reading."

The class went obediently quiet. Crowley pretended not to notice the notes being passed between a certain group of students.

-

Crowley had been spending lunch in his classroom this week. It was boring, but better than bumping into Aziraphale or, worse, Anathema. There was one problem with it, though: his students could find him. 

A shadow obscured the notes he was reading, and he looked up. "Shouldn't you be outside?" 

The Them grinned collectively and handed him a piece of A4 paper folded in two. It was decorated with hearts and stars and crudely drawn dinosaurs, and the word "sorry" was written in rainbow letters along the top. Crowley let slip a small smile before consciously wiping it from his face. 

"What's this supposed to be?"

"Give it to Mr Fell!" they chirped together.

"Then he'll forgive you," added Wensleydale.

"Right…"

The kids beamed at him. Crowley sighed. 

"Thank you," he added, reluctantly. 

The Them seemed satisfied and ran off to the field, to play whatever game it was they were playing today. 

Crowley put the card in his drawer with the rest of the drawings he'd either confiscated or been gifted by his students (if you asked him, they were all confiscated). Then he took it out again, and slipped it into his laptop bag. 

It was ridiculous, really. He didn't need relationship - ugh,  _ friendship _ \- advice from year fives. Except, apparently, he did. 

-

Aziraphale hadn't felt this lonely since he moved back to London. He'd spent Tuesday afternoon self-righteously angry, but that soon faded back into the empty feeling that had been growing in his chest since Saturday. He supposed he was going to have to get used to that feeling. 

After their argument, he didn't see Crowley again until Thursday. They bumped into each other outside the headmistress's office, Crowley on his way out. He had his coat on, and his eyes were oddly wide.

Aziraphale wanted to be bitter and walk away, but his mouth didn't get the message and he spoke without thinking. "What's going on?"

"My dad's in the hospital," Crowley said.

Aziraphale blinked. "What?"

"My dad. Hospital," Crowley repeated in a flat monotone, eyes boring a hole into the middle distance. 

There was silence. Dead air. It was devastating.

"I… have to go," Crowley said, to himself as much as Aziraphale.

Aziraphale didn't have to consider his next course of action for even a moment.

"Wait," he said, and disappeared into the headmistress's office. 

There was a quick mumbled conversation that consisted of him begging her for the time off. Though, judging by her reaction, he needn't have begged. 

Back at Crowley's side, Aziraphale said, "I'm going with you."

There was a moment, the weighing of pride and ego against comfort and need.

"Okay."

Aziraphale retrieved his coat and bag, and they got into the Bentley in silence. As Crowley started the car, Aziraphale spoke.

"What happened?"

"He had a heart attack." Crowley paused. "They don't know if he's gonna--"

He couldn't finish. 

For once, Aziraphale didn't complain about Crowley's driving. He just held on to the edge of his seat and grit his teeth. 

Crowley had always had a sullenness about him, but Aziraphale had never seen him like this. He was silent. Not like during their comfortable silences. This was heavy, full of emotions left unspoken lest they become too much to bear. Crowley stared out of the windshield, unblinking. He was static, but almost vibrating with barely suppressed restless energy. Aziraphale had never seen someone so still but so restless at the same time. 

He wanted to say something, but he didn't think there existed any words that could help in this moment. No matter how much he wished he could, he couldn't promise that everything would be okay. Perhaps going with Crowley had been a bad idea. 

After some time, Crowley spoke. "I haven't seen him in years." 

Aziraphale sat silently, allowing Crowley to find the words in his own time.

"Not since before you left. It's been so long." Crowley continued, his voice flat. "I can't even remember the last thing I said to him." He paused, and shook his head. "You don't need to hear this."

"I'm here to support you," Aziraphale said softly. He didn't feel like he was doing a very good job of that, but he meant it.

The rest of the drive was in silence.

When they arrived at the hospital, Aziraphale insisted that Crowley meet his family alone. Crowley didn't have the space in his mind to argue. After reassuring him that he was only a phone call away if needed, Aziraphale excused himself to the on-site cafe, and all of a sudden Crowley was alone.

His mother was waiting outside. She pulled him into a hug. 

"Oh, love, it was awful," she started. "We were out shopping, and he had this pain, and I thought nothing of it but it kept getting worse, so we came home, and-- and I called an ambulance just in case, and I'm so glad I did, because they arrived just in time. His heart stopped, love, he was dead, but they brought him back and oh, they were so good, and--"

"Mum," Crowley interrupted. "Is he…?"

"Oh, dear, I'm sorry. The surgery was successful. He's going to be okay."

His mother was still talking, but Crowley didn't hear the rest of what she said.

Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. Crowley's mind was blank as he walked with his mother to the hospital ward. He could hear her talking to him, but he didn't know what she was saying. Off-white corridors, the smell of disinfectant. The ominous beeping of monitors, doctors and nurses scurrying around. Beds, strangers with weak stares and weaker bodies. Dad. 

"Dad."

He was alive. His lined face was taut with exhaustion and pain, but he still managed to smile when Crowley approached. They spoke. Crowley was running on autopilot, barely registering what he was hearing, barely aware of what he was saying. His father's voice was strained and raspy, and every groan of pain he made was like an arrow through Crowley's heart. He had never seen his father so exhausted, like the life had been drained from him. 

They couldn't stay long - his father was still being monitored after surgery and visiting hours were brief. Crowley had to drag his mother away, insisting that the doctors know what's best and if they said he needed rest, he needed rest. The promise of a catch up with her only child was her only consolation. 

The hospital, a facility dedicated to the heart and lungs, was fairly small, so it didn't take them long to find the cafe. Aziraphale hurried over when he saw them. 

Mrs Crowley must have recognised him. "Aziraphale? What are you doing here?"

"Do you have any news?" Aziraphale asked Crowley anxiously before she could continue. 

Crowley's mouth opened and words came out, though he wasn't aware of willing this to happen. "He's going to be okay."

"Oh, thank goodness." Aziraphale visibly loosened and gently touched Crowley's arm. The touch was grounding, warm and familiar. 

Crowley's mother watched them closely, and raised an eyebrow in a Crowley-like fashion. Aziraphale removed his hand. 

There was polite conversation over tea, kept deliberately light-hearted in an effort to distract themselves. Mrs Crowley - "call me Cath, dear" - was asking about things like work and family and whether they were eating well. Crowley was slowly becoming more aware of the world around him, the combination of his mother's irritating questions and Aziraphale's soft voice rousing him from his stupor. The atmosphere was heavy and Crowley could tell that Aziraphale felt awkward. He wanted to reach out and reassure him, tell him he was glad he was there, but his body wouldn't comply. Instead, he just nodded and mumbled in response to his mother, while Aziraphale handled the actual words. 

"So, how long have you two been…?" Cath gestured at the two of them.

Crowley's brain went dead. "Uhhh…"

"Oh, we're not- I'm not- I'm just here for support," stuttered Aziraphale.

"Right," agreed Crowley, reluctantly. 

She eyed them both suspiciously, but dropped the topic.

After a bit more polite conversation, Aziraphale volunteered to get more tea. Crowley knew it was just an excuse to give him and his mum some time alone, and that really wasn't necessary, but he didn't argue.

"You know, it's a shame, you and Aziraphale. I've always liked him," Crowley's mother said.

_ 'Me, too' _ , thought Crowley.

"Oh, but he's gay, isn't he?"

Crowley tensed. Things had been going so well. He'd thought maybe it would be different this time, maybe his absence had changed things. He chided himself for expecting better. 

"So am I," he said.

"Of course," said his mother, her voice dripping with subtext.

When Aziraphale returned to the table, things were quiet, the atmosphere thick and tense. It wasn't long before Crowley's mother excused herself to check on his father, leaving him and Aziraphale alone.

"Did something happen?" Aziraphale asked carefully.

Crowley sighed bitterly. "She just said something shitty."

Aziraphale sighed, too. "Already?"

"She can't help herself."

-

It was late, and the hospital had put their foot down about Mrs Crowley bending the visiting rules. It was time to leave.

"Your dad will be happy to see the car in such good shape," she said, as they approached the Bentley.

Crowley smiled to himself, but didn't say anything. 

"You will stay with us, won't you, Aziraphale?" Cath said, more of a statement than a question.

"Oh, I don't want to be a trouble, I can-"

"No trouble," said Mrs Crowley.

"Come on, angel," said Crowley. 

And so Aziraphale found himself sitting in the back of the car on his way to the Crowleys' house. Curiously, there was a rather expensive bottle of wine on the seat next to him. 

The house hadn't changed very much since Aziraphale had last visited, including, unfortunately, the school photos on the walls. Aziraphale noticed that Crowley very pointedly didn't look at them. Crowley's childhood bedroom had been turned into a study since he'd last visited, though fortunately for them the bed was still there. 

"I'm afraid this is the only spare room, so you'll have to share," Cath said to Aziraphale apologetically. "We have an air mattress somewhere."

"That will be lovely, thank you," said Aziraphale politely. 

It wouldn't be lovely, it would be awkward. The memory of the night Crowley walked out was still fresh in his mind, and with it, all the confusion it caused. He still wasn't sure exactly where he stood in terms of Crowley's affections. Perhaps he should have put his foot down and stayed at a B&B after all. But he couldn't complain, Mrs Crowley had been kind enough to let him stay. So when she dug out the air mattress and pump, he gratefully accepted it.

"You can have the proper bed," Crowley insisted, as they worked together to inflate the mattress.

"Absolutely not." Aziraphale was adamant. "It's  _ your _ bed."

"But  _ you're _ the guest," Crowley countered.

"You've had an emotional day, you need some good rest. Please."

Crowley could never resist giving in to what Aziraphale wanted. He'd give him the stars if he could.

"Fine," he relented. "Maybe we can swap tomorrow or something."

"Maybe," Aziraphale said, having absolutely no intention of swapping.

When their work was finally finished, Crowley flopped down onto the edge of his bed. He motioned for Aziraphale to join him, and they sat together, slightly awkwardly.

Aziraphale broke the silence. "I have to ask. Why is there a bottle of Saint-Émilion in the back of your car?"

"Oh. That was meant to be a peace offering. I was  _ planning _ to turn up at yours to talk things out," Crowley explained.

"Oh." Aziraphale gave a small laugh and reached into his bag, pulling out an expensive looking bottle of Claret. "I was going to do something similar. But I couldn't work up the nerve."

Crowley smiled. " _ Oh no _ ," he said. "We'll just have to drink them both."

"What a shame," agreed Aziraphale. 

Crowley remembered something, and reached for his bag. "I have something to show you."

He pulled out the card his students made and handed it to Aziraphale. "My kids wanted to help us make up."

Aziraphale smiled down at the card. It was absolutely charming, from the rainbow "sorry" to the dinosaurs and especially the little hearts around the edges. 

"You have some lovely students," Aziraphale beamed.

"They're alright." Crowley's words were at odds with the fond smile on his face.

"Can I keep this?" Aziraphale asked.

"Yeah. The kids'll be happy."

Aziraphale put away the card and there was silence again, although a slightly more comfortable one this time.

"How do you feel?" he asked. That was probably a stupid question.

"Tired. I don't know. It's like my brain won't let me think about it."

"You should get some sleep."

"Yeah. That would be nice." As if on cue, Crowley yawned.

It was only when they thought about sleep that they realised that neither of them had a change of clothes with them. Not keen on sleeping in the clothes he'd been in all day, and knowing Aziraphale wouldn't be either, Crowley decided to check his old wardrobe to see if there was anything they could sleep in.

His clothes were still there. Rather, a mixture of  _ his _ clothes and clothes his mother bought him, clothes he'd never even worn. Clothes much too fitted and frilly for his liking, even back then. He flicked through the hangers, looking for something for Aziraphale. Aziraphale watched curiously from behind. Something frilly caught his eye.

"I don't remember you ever wearing clothes like that. Not even at school," he commented. 

"I stopped wearing them when I was, like, eight," Crowley said. "My mum didn't stop buying them, though."

Aziraphale gave a sympathetic smile. His own mother wasn't the only expert in denial. 

"I really doubt your teenage clothes are going to fit me," he said, changing the subject.

"You forget, my T-shirts were massive," Crowley said, pulling out a large black T-shirt with a worn-out Green Day logo on it. "Try this."

Aziraphale looked at him with a pained expression.

"If you sleep in your shirt it'll get creased." 

Aziraphale relented. The T-shirt fit, but he did not enjoy wearing it. 

Crowley thought it was hilarious. He snorted. "That does not suit you at all."

"That makes me feel much better, thank you," Aziraphale said sarcastically.

"I'm teasing," Crowley said.  _ 'It's cute,' _ he thought. 

He dug himself out another old black T-shirt, and the two settled into their respective beds.

"Are you sure you don't mind sleeping on the floor?" Crowley asked, guiltily. 

"I'm sure. You need the rest." Aziraphale smiled up at him from the air mattress on the floor. 

Crowley wondered if it was hard work being so ceaselessly kind, or if it just came naturally to Aziraphale. 

As usual, Crowley fell asleep first. Aziraphale lay awake for a while, listening to the steady sound of his breathing. Was it right for him to be here like this? This was a family issue, and he wasn't family. He just wanted to support his friend - he knew how difficult dealing with family could be - but he couldn't help but feel out of place. Maybe tomorrow he should make his excuses and leave. He sighed. He'd decide in the morning. Now, he needed to sleep. 

-

In the early hours of the morning, Aziraphale was woken by a sound. Sobbing. He sat up to investigate and the sobbing stopped suddenly, but soon returned in shuddering waves. 

"Anthony?" Aziraphale said quietly.

The sobbing got worse. Aziraphale wasn't sure what to do. He wanted to comfort his friend, give him the biggest hug he possibly could and hold him for as long as he needed. But it was possible that that could make it worse. Perhaps he needed to be left alone.

But as Crowley continued to sob, breaths coming out choked and strained, Aziraphale found that he couldn't just leave him alone. So he slowly stood and knelt on the edge of the bed.

"I'm coming in, okay?" he said, voice almost a whisper.

Crowley said nothing, but nodded. Aziraphale heard it rather than saw it. 

He pulled back the duvet and settled into the bed, slipping one arm under the bridge of Crowley's neck and using the other to pull him into a tight hug. Crowley complied without protest, though he kept his arms tucked tight against himself. He rested his head against Aziraphale's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he choked.

"Shh. It's okay," Aziraphale said quietly, rubbing circles into Crowley's back. "It's okay. Let it all out."

What was left of the dam broke, and Crowley sobbed into Aziraphale's chest, gripping his T-shirt tightly. Aziraphale could feel the wet of his tears through the fabric. His throat stung as he held back his own tears. There was nothing in his power that could make things better. So he held Crowley close, stroking his hair, until the sobs came less frequently and he became quiet.

Eventually, Crowley spoke. "His heart actually stopped. They brought him back." 

Aziraphale listened patiently, rubbing Crowley's back gently.

"I hadn't seen him for so long. And he almost died. And I'd never see him again."

"He's still here," Aziraphale reassured him. "You can see him. You can say what you need to say."

Crowley didn't say anything, but Aziraphale could feel him nod slightly. 

They fell back into silence, punctuated only by Crowley's occasional sniffs. Aziraphale was still stroking Crowley's hair. Crowley made no attempt to move away. His head was heavy on Aziraphale's shoulder, and Aziraphale was trying very hard not to think about how wonderful that felt. 

Once again, Crowley broke the silence. "Thank you. For coming with me." A pause, then a moment later, "I couldn't have done this alone."

"Any time," Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley smiled into his shoulder.

As silence descended once again, and Crowley seemed to have calmed down, Aziraphale wondered if he should go back to his bed on the floor. Judging by the sound of his breathing, Crowley was getting drowsy. He should probably let him sleep.

As if reading his mind, Crowley whispered, "stay."

Aziraphale needed no more convincing. "Okay."

And for the second time within a week, Crowley fell asleep nestled against Aziraphale, head still resting on his shoulder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to talk or vent about any of the issues brought up in this chapter, my Twitter is [here](http://www.twitter.com/mausekonig) and I'm always willing to listen.
> 
> You can listen to this chapter's namesake [here](https://youtu.be/9GkVhgIeGJQ).
> 
> Thanks again to [cornthea](http://www.instagram.com/cornthea.ig) for all their help with this. 
> 
> And thank you for reading ❤️
> 
> Edit: I forgot to wish you all happy holidays! Whether you celebrate or not, I hope you had a lovely time. If this time of year sucks for you like it does for me, I'm sorry, from the bottom of my heart.


	7. Friday I'm In Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Every time I see you falling  
>  I get down on my knees and pray  
> I'm waiting for that final moment  
> You say the words that I can't say_
> 
> * Content warning: family member in hospital

Aziraphale was the first to wake. Light was streaming through the thin curtains. He hadn't moved much during the night, his arms still embracing his friend. Crowley, however, had moved. His arms were now wrapped around Aziraphale's waist, and his face was buried in his chest. Even if Aziraphale had wanted to move, he couldn't. Not without waking Crowley. Luckily, he was content to stay like this for the rest of his life if necessary. He breathed in Crowley's scent, and, for a moment, let himself imagine what it would be like to wake up like this every day.

And then he felt a rush of guilt. How awful of him, to take advantage of his friend's grief like this. Crowley needed comfort and he was there to provide it, not to take advantage of him in his time of need. But Crowley was intoxicating, and Aziraphale had always been weak when it came to indulging himself. 

He waited anxiously for Crowley to stir, so he would no longer be alone with temptation.

-

As Crowley woke, he became aware of two things: he was holding someone, and someone was holding him. That someone was soft, and warm, and had a familiar and comforting smell. Slowly, he opened his eyes to find himself nuzzled into a chest. Aziraphale's chest. Holy shit. 

Aziraphale must have noticed Crowley's movement because he looked down and smiled. "Good morning."

Crowley gingerly untangled himself from his friend, pulling his arm from around Aziraphale's waist and moving back slightly. He felt cold and empty without his friend's warmth around him.

"Morning," he croaked.

"How do you feel?" asked Aziraphale.

"Uhhh." All coherent thought had been wiped from Crowley's mind when he'd realised that he'd been  _ cuddling _ Aziraphale - and Aziraphale hadn't seemed to mind.

"Any better than last night?" prompted Aziraphale helpfully.

Last night. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. Last night when he'd woken Aziraphale up with that embarrassing display. Crowley turned away from him and hid his face.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he murmured. 

Aziraphale chuckled. "Anthony. I took care of you after surgery. I washed your hair, for goodness' sake. I've seen it all already."

"You're too good to me," mumbled Crowley.

"Not nearly as good as you deserve."

Damn him, why did he have to be so nice? If Crowley wasn't careful, he might start to believe him.

-

They spent the day at the hospital, spending as much time with Crowley's father as they could, although Aziraphale still insisted on staying in the cafe, despite Crowley's assurances that he was welcome. Mr Crowley was in the recovery ward now, a much less daunting room with fewer monitors and nurses skittering around. Crowley was relieved to see his father looking significantly better than yesterday, more like the man he grew up with than the pained husk he saw the day before. There was more life in him, perhaps even more than there had been the last time Crowley had seen him at home.

They talked in a way that they hadn't for a long time, Crowley's father keen to know everything that had happened since he'd last seen him. Crowley found himself uncharacteristically willing to share, talking about his school, Anathema, his students. He talked about the Bentley, which he was very proud of having kept spotless since his father had passed it down to him. And he talked about Aziraphale, how he'd turned up at his school out of nowhere, how Crowley had crashed his bike and he wasn't even angry for a second, and how he was waiting dutifully in the hospital cafe right now, having come all this way just to support his friend. The only thing he didn't mention was how he was desperately in love with him.

It may not have been a coincidence that the next thing Crowley's father asked about was romance.

"Is there anyone special I should know about?" 

Crowley paused. "Uhh… kinda. Not really. Well- we're close, but- I haven't actually asked him how he feels." 

He was surprised at his own words. There was just something in this moment that made him want to be honest.

His dad smiled softly. "You should. Life is short. Don't miss your chance."

There was weight to those words. They stayed with Crowley for the rest of the day. 

-

It was late, and visiting time was coming to a close. There was something Crowley had to do before they left. As they said their goodbyes, he leaned down and pulled his father into a hug. He'd been thinking about it all day, it was time to finally say it. 

"I love you, Dad."

His father hugged him back. Crowley could feel him fighting the weakness in his limbs to hug as tightly as he could in his condition. 

"I love you, too, son."

Crowley's throat burned as he held back his tears. 'Son.' It sounded good. 

After saying goodbye, Crowley excused himself to the toilets, where he let himself break down. 

-

When Crowley and his mother entered the cafe, Aziraphale could immediately tell there was something different about him. His eyes were red and swollen, for one, and Aziraphale's mind filled with all the dreadful potential reasons that could have caused this. Crowley's mother didn't seem upset, so it probably wasn't about his father's condition, but Aziraphale wouldn't put it past either of his parents to have said something catastrophically thoughtless enough to make him fall to pieces. 

He opened his mouth to ask about it, but Crowley looked at him and Aziraphale knew it had to be left until later. So he spent the car ride home churning with anxiety, mind cycling through all the possibilities, and what he could possibly say to comfort his friend. 

When they were back at the Crowleys' house, and had finally managed to excuse themselves to Crowley's old room, Aziraphale immediately asked about it.

"Were you crying earlier? Is everything ok?" 

Crowley smiled to himself. "Yeah, it's ok. It was a good kind of cry."

Relieved, but perhaps even more curious, Aziraphale sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's silly," Crowley said, sitting down next to him. 

"I'm sure it's not." Aziraphale smiled gently, urging his friend to speak his mind. 

There was definitely something different about Crowley, besides the puffy eyes. Something too subtle to pinpoint, but it was definitely there.

Crowley hesitated, unsure of what to say. "My dad…" He paused.

"Yes?"

"He called me "son"." A pause. "He's never done that before."

It was something in his face. There was less tension in his expression, his lips curved into the slightest of smiles. Aziraphale could practically see the weight lift from his shoulders as he spoke. 

"I thought I could live without this kind of… validation? Acceptance?" Crowley continued. "I didn't realise it would mean that much to me." He smiled. "But it did."

Aziraphale was beaming. He had always been empathetic, had always shared in Crowley's joy - and his sorrow - like it was his own, but it always surprised Crowley just a little bit. It was unspeakably wonderful, having someone who understood him this deeply. Crowley basked in Aziraphale's warmth, and, for once, the warmth coming from his own heart. And when Aziraphale pulled him into a hug, that warmth doubled. 

Aziraphale's hands were supportive and reassuring on his back. At first, Crowley didn't know where to put his hands, but he settled on wrapping them around Aziraphale's broad back, holding him close. He might as well make the most of this, right? 

"I'm glad you had this moment together," Aziraphale said, and Crowley could feel his smile through his words.

"Yeah," Crowley said quietly. 

He rested his head on Aziraphale's shoulder. This was nice. Aziraphale was warm and soft, but also surprisingly firm. Crowley could feel the muscles in his back, slightly tensed. He imagined what it would be like without the layers of cloth in the way, how it would feel to cling to him, beneath him, and feel those muscles shift and tense. His face felt hot.

Aziraphale gave him a tight squeeze, then pulled away, his hands lingering for just a moment on Crowley's waist. His blush was not lost on Crowley, whose face was also tinged pink. 

"We need to talk about this," Crowley said. 

"About what?"

"This. Us." 

Aziraphale's heart beat faster. "What about us?"

"You keep doing it. All these little nice things. Hugs and touches and sweet words, and… it's confusing."

"Confusing..?"

"Like, I don't know if I should get my hopes up, or…" Crowley trailed off. He wasn't looking at Aziraphale.

Something in Aziraphale's brain finally clicked. "You're getting  _ my _ hopes up now," he said, voice almost a whisper. 

Crowley looked up at him at that. Aziraphale was looking at him nervously. 

"Aziraphale."

"Anthony."

Crowley stared at him, willing him to keep talking, to say what he wanted to hear.

"Do you really think "all these little nice things" are just friendly?" Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley was overwhelmed. Had Aziraphale really been trying to flirt with him this whole time? Had he really not noticed? He wanted to say something, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. 

They stared at each other. Aziraphale was so conflicted. Things were going unbelievably well, but Crowley was in a vulnerable place and Aziraphale didn't want to take advantage of that. He ached to lean in and close the distance between them, but his better judgement stopped him. And he cursed it, wished he could be more thoughtless and impulsive, but that wasn't in his nature. So he stared. His eyes were drawn to Crowley's lips, flushed red and slightly parted. Lord give him strength. 

Crowley was still reeling from the recent revelations. His mind replayed all the moments that had made his heart flutter, considered the implication that those moments were  _ on purpose _ , and his heart almost fluttered out of his chest. Heart pounding, he stared at Aziraphale. And he stared, and he stared, because he couldn't think of the words, if there even were any. And Aziraphale stared back, and Crowley could swear he was staring at his lips, and he waited, but Aziraphale didn't move. And Crowley wanted so badly for Aziraphale to take the initiative, but he was too bloody considerate. And god, if that wasn't what Crowley loved about him. 

They were sitting so close together that it didn't take much to close the gap. Crowley lost patience and leaned in slowly, eyes searching his friend's face for his reaction. Aziraphale finally seemed to get the message. He leaned forward to meet Crowley's lips in a soft, chaste kiss, and Crowley was ascending. His heart finally fluttered free of his chest and into the air, no longer afraid.

They pulled back, just far enough to look at each other for a moment. Aziraphale smiled a kind of shy, relieved smile and Crowley thought he was going to burst. He mirrored his smile, before they fell back together into another soft, gentle kiss. This time Crowley didn't wait for Aziraphale to take the initiative. He ran his tongue over Aziraphale's plump bottom lip, a wordless request, and Aziraphale opened his mouth and responded in kind. And then Aziraphale's hands were buried in Crowley's hair, angling his head to deepen their kiss, and he sighed blissfully, and Crowley was in heaven. 

-

"How long?" Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale's chest. They were curled up on the bed together, Aziraphale's arms wrapped around him, idly stroking his hair. 

"Sorry?" asked Aziraphale.

"How long have you… felt like this?" Crowley was fiddling with the buttons of Aziraphale's shirt, not looking up.

"Oh." Aziraphale paused. "A while."

Crowley still wasn't looking at him. "How long is a while?"

Aziraphale hesitated. "Sinceyourescuedmybook," he said, so quickly it was almost unintelligible.

Crowley sat up and finally looked at him. "Since school?"

Aziraphale felt very hot all of a sudden. He looked away.

"And you never said anything," Crowley said incredulously. 

"Well, I- I assumed you wouldn't… You'd have said something if you-- Wait, how long have  _ you _ felt this way?"

This time, Crowley paused. "...Probably since the beginning."

" _ What _ ?"

"Like, I didn't know it until much, much later, but I'm pretty sure I fell in love with you the minute you first talked to me."

"Love?"

Crowley froze. Oh. Oh shit. He'd let it slip. And not in a romantic way, he'd just… blurted it out by accident. Shit. It was definitely too soon. Aziraphale would run a mile after that. He probably shouldn't have said anything about the beginning either, it probably came off as creepy and now Aziraphale was going to leave and he just thought maybe because he said he'd liked him for so long that maybe it would be ok but--

"I love you, too."

Crowley blinked. The air had left his lungs. 

Aziraphale smiled and cupped his cheek, gently turning his face to look at him. He said it again. "I love you."

Crowley was trying hard not to cry. This was a dream. This whole day must have been a dream. He must still be in bed, curled up and cheeks stained with tears. Maybe he'd even dreamed Aziraphale comforting him. 

But no. It was too real. It felt real, as he threaded his hands in blond curls and pulled Aziraphale into a kiss. It felt real when Aziraphale's hands found his waist and pulled him in close. It felt real as they parted, lips flushed and wet, and Aziraphale looked up at him with big, blue, beautiful eyes. 

"I love you," Crowley said, out loud, for the first time. 

And he smiled. And Aziraphale smiled, that adorable, beaming smile. And they were smiling together, smiling into soft, wet kisses, until the hour grew late, and they were smiling into sleepy cuddles, cuddles without pretense, without the fear that any moment one would push the other away. It was just like a dream. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost at the end! Just a few things left to tie up. 
> 
> [Here](https://youtu.be/mGgMZpGYiy8) is this chapter's namesake song. 
> 
> Again, thank you to [cornthea](http://www.instagram.com/cornthea.ig) for their help and support.
> 
> And thank you for reading ❤️


	8. Close To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of something new, and the resolution of something old. 
> 
> Content warnings for:  
> * Family member in hospital  
> * Past transphobia  
> * Implied homophobia

Light streamed through the thin curtains of Crowley's old bedroom. The air was cold, but something around Crowley was very warm. Aziraphale. He nuzzled into his friend, basking in his warmth. Aziraphale's grip on him loosened when he felt him stir, and he gazed at Crowley with a smile. 

"Good morning," Aziraphale said softly, and leaned over, placing a gentle kiss on Crowley's forehead.

"It really is," Crowley said, leaning into the kiss.

Yesterday was real. He still found it hard to believe. No more furtive touches, no more pretense of drunkenness or sleepiness. He didn't have to hide anymore. Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale's chest and sighed contentedly. 

They stayed together like that for a while, wordless, warm and snug, until they couldn't justify staying in bed anymore. Or at least, Aziraphale couldn't justify staying in bed anymore, and Crowley knew he'd get another comment from his mother if he didn't get up soon. So they begrudgingly rose, and, after a brief discussion, begrudgingly agreed to act like nothing had changed in front of Crowley's mother. Crowley didn't want to deal with that conversation on top of everything else. 

Breakfast was excruciating. After so many years of not being allowed to touch, now that the floodgates had been opened it was difficult to stem the flow. What they held back physically they made up for in eye contact, all smiles and fluttering eyelashes. Fortunately Crowley's mother didn't seem to be paying attention, apparently very busy making a pot of coffee.

After breakfast, Aziraphale went out for some supplies, leaving Crowley alone with his mother. They sat together in the kitchen, discussing their visiting plans for the day over coffee. Crowley wrapped his hands around his coffee cup and felt the warmth radiate through him. It reminded him of Aziraphale and his intoxicating warmth. He hadn't really appreciated warmth like this before now. 

"Do you want a refill?" his mother asked, interrupting his train of thought. 

"Yes, please."

She leaned over him to reach his cup, looming. Crowley felt a sudden chill. In that moment, it almost felt like she was intentionally caging him in. 

And then she was gone, at the sink, washing dishes. Crowley watched the back of her head as she worked.

His mother spoke without looking at him. "I went into your room this morning while you were both sleeping."

She continued talking, something about just going to get some linen, but Crowley wasn't taking it in. He was frozen, clutching his coffee cup so tightly that the warmth began to burn his hands. As much as she talked about being accepting, Crowley knew that deep down his mother was old fashioned. She was never thrilled about his boyfriends in the past, preferring to pretend that they didn't exist. He didn't want to have this conversation. Not so soon, at least.

"You were always a restless child," his mother continued. "Even when you slept, you would toss and turn." 

She turned to face him. "I think, in the thirty-odd years I've known you, that's the first time I've seen you looking so at peace."

Crowley looked up at her. There was the slightest hint of a frown on her brow, but on her lips was a smile that was undoubtedly genuine. 

When Aziraphale got back a bit later, he was greeted by Crowley, alone at the dinner table.

"Everything alright?" Aziraphale asked as he approached him. It was taking all his will-power not to wrap his arms around him.

Crowley looked at him, oddly still, then took Aziraphale's hand in his and laced their fingers together. 

"Yeah. Everything's alright," he said with a tranquil smile. 

-

Once again, Aziraphale sat anxiously in the back of the Bentley. Crowley had asked him to visit his father with them, and though he was still concerned about intruding on family time, he could hardly say no. 

There wasn't really any reason for him to be anxious. He had met Crowley's father several times before and he had always been pleasant to him, but something about this time felt different. It was different, he supposed. Everything was now. 

Mr Crowley welcomed Aziraphale warmly when they entered the room.

"Aziraphale!" he said, "I was hoping you'd visit."

"It's good to see you, Mr Crowley," said Aziraphale, relieved to see that he was in fairly good spirits despite his ordeal.

Crowley elbowed him affectionately. "Stop being so polite."

Mr Crowley chuckled. "That's right. I've known you since you were little, Aziraphale. You can call me Frank."

Aziraphale nodded. "Yes, sir. Uh, Frank."

Crowley snorted, looking fondly at Aziraphale. Aziraphale batted him lightly on the shoulder, looking fondly back.

Crowley's father eyed them knowingly.

After some polite conversation and a lot of catching up, Crowley's father asked to speak to Aziraphale alone. 

Immediately, myriad possibilities cycled through Crowley's mind. He knew. They must have been too obvious. Had he suddenly become protective? He'd never paid much attention to his partners in the past. What had changed? 

Crowley wanted to say something, but he could hardly tell off a man in a hospital bed. As he left with his mother, he looked at Aziraphale over his shoulder, trying to convey the words "don't take any shit." Aziraphale smiled at him nervously.

Once they were alone, Crowley's father spoke. "This has been a long time coming, hasn't it?"

Aziraphale misinterpreted. "I'm sorry, I should have visited sooner but I didn't want to intrude-" he started, but Crowley's father shook his head.

"No no no, I'm talking about you and Anthony."

"Me and…? Oh. Is it that obvious?" 

"It always has been. I saw the way you used to look at him." 

Aziraphale wasn't sure what to say.

"But I ignored it, like I ignored everything else," Mr Crowley continued. "Thought if I ignored it, it would all go away, and everything would be normal."

The word "normal" made Aziraphale visibly flinch.

"Exactly," said Crowley's father, his expression tinged with guilt.

Aziraphale knew he had to share something. Now was the time. 

"Anthony was different yesterday," he said. "He seemed happier - lighter, like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. I think you had something to do with that."

He had expected Crowley's father to be pleased, but instead the look on his face was one of pain and regret.

"I should have done it sooner," Mr Crowley lamented. "I really should have."

He paused, and looked up at Aziraphale. "May I share something with you?" he asked, waiting for Aziraphale's nod. "When my heart stopped, and I was unconscious, I had a dream. We were at the park together, me and Cath and Anthony. I remember that day. We had a row with Anthony about what he would wear. He was only little, but he already had his sense of style. In the end, he wore the dress we'd picked out for him. But in my dream, he was wearing the dungarees he'd picked out himself."

Mr Crowley sighed. "I only ever wanted him to be happy. But I had the wrong idea of what would actually make him happy. I've always just got in the way of that instead. I don't want to get in the way anymore."

He looked into Aziraphale's eyes. "Please, make him happy. Make my son happy."

-

"Are you going to tell me what Dad said to you yesterday?" Crowley asked.

They were in the Bentley, driving back to London. As next week was half term, they had decided to pick up some clothes and other things so they could stay with Crowley's family until his father was discharged.

"I must congratulate you on your patience," Aziraphale said. "I was expecting you to jump on me as soon as I got out yesterday."

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. "Not in public, angel." 

Aziraphale went red. "Oh, you know what I mean."

Crowley smirked.

"So? What did he say? Did he tell you to stay away from his little princess?"

"No," Aziraphale said, a bit more sternly than he'd meant to. "No, it wasn't like that."

Crowley seemed relieved. "Well? What  _ was _ it like?"

"It wasn't negative. That's all I'm saying."

Crowley was satisfied with that, enough to drop the topic. Aziraphale obviously wasn't going to share any more.

They drove in quiet for a while, the radio filling the silence. The atmosphere was so different to the last time they made this journey, only a few days ago. Aziraphale marvelled at how much could change in such a small space of time. How a tragic event could lead to so much positive change. 

The song changed on the radio, Karen Carpenter's soft contralto vocals filling the car as Close to You played. It wouldn't have been worth noting, except that Crowley started quietly singing along. 

"I didn't know you liked this song," Aziraphale said. "It's not really your style."

Crowley spent a moment debating how much of himself to lay bare. 

"You know," he said, "this song always made me think of you."

"Oh." Aziraphale looked away, a shy smile on his face. "That's- but, why?"

"Oh, come on." 

Crowley sang along to the radio. 

_ "On the day that you were born the angels got together _

_ And decided to create a dream come true _

_ So they sprinkled moondust in your hair of gold _

_ And starlight in your eyes of blue." _

He glanced at Aziraphale, who was looking intently away from him, his face tinged pink. 

"You're very kind to me," Aziraphale said quietly. 

"Nah," Crowley said. "Just honest."

Aziraphale smiled bashfully. This feeling was… not new, as such, but something he had felt only fleetingly in the past. A warm, fuzzy feeling that he wasn't used to. He was still looking away.

"You don't get it, do you?" Crowley said softly. 

Aziraphale looked at him curiously.

"It's all true. You're the kindest, most beautiful person I've ever known."

Aziraphale didn't know what to say. He glanced back at Crowley, who was smiling softly. He was being sincere. That warm, fuzzy feeling spread.

He shifted oddly in his seat.

"You okay?" Crowley asked. Maybe that was too much.

"It's a bit embarrassing, actually." Aziraphale paused. "Sometimes strong… romantic feelings can make me…" he trailed off.

"Hm?" Crowley was confused. 

"You know…" Aziraphale glanced down at his lap.

So did Crowley. Oh. He glanced down again, and the car veered ever so slightly. 

"Keep your eyes on the road!"

-

Their trip to Aziraphale's flat was brief, despite how long he took folding and arranging his clothes neatly in his suitcase.

Before long they were at Crowley's flat. 

"Is that my jumper?" Aziraphale asked, gesturing at what was clearly his jumper draped over the back of the sofa.

"No?"

Crowley looked at him with a guilty expression. Aziraphale couldn't help but laugh fondly.

"It smelled like you," Crowley added, as though that would explain everything. 

Aziraphale just looked at him with an amused expression. Crowley's face flushed red.

"Can I keep it?" he mumbled, almost inaudibly.

"It's yours," Aziraphale said with a smile.

Face still red, Crowley excused himself to go and pack, taking the jumper with him. 

Aziraphale admired the plants while Crowley packed in the bedroom, considerably more quickly than he had. He paced up and down the plant room, trying to arrange his thoughts. There was something on his mind. He didn't have to wait long before Crowley joined him. 

Aziraphale took a deep breath. It was time to let himself be impulsive, for once.

"Your flat is so big," he said. "So much nicer than mine." He paused. It was now or never. "I was wondering… if perhaps there's room for one more?" 

"Yes," Crowley said, far too quickly. "I mean-" He paused, unable to find the words he wanted. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"I still have a few months left on my lease, so we have some time to think about it, but-"

"Whenever. In a few months, now, or in between, there's a place for you here."

Aziraphale smiled warmly, and Crowley couldn't help but pull him close, leaning in for a kiss. And another, and another. Small kisses became longer, deeper, bodies pressed flush together. 

"I love you," Aziraphale breathed against Crowley's lips, and that was too much for him. 

"I love you, too," Crowley whispered.

Carefully, he walked Aziraphale backwards towards the sofa, until the backs of his legs hit the edge and he lost his balance, falling onto the cushions. Crowley was in his lap immediately, threading his hands into Aziraphale's curls, and their lips were together again, all tongues and deep, blissful moans. Aziraphale's hands were all over him, his waist, his hips, his ass - oh, finally - and he was pulling him closer, closer, never close enough. And that was definitely too much for Crowley.

"Let's stay here tonight," he whispered into Aziraphale's ear. 

Aziraphale answered with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is a short epilogue, under 1000 words, so I will probably post it soonish.
> 
> As usual, big thanks to [cornthea](http://www.instagram.com/cornthea.ig) for working on this with me. This chapter wouldn't have happened without them. 
> 
> And huge thanks to you for reading ❤️


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of our story, but the beginning of something new.
> 
> Content warning for:  
> * Family member in hospital

Crowley leaned against the side of the Bentley, tapping his fingers anxiously on the door. Today was the day. His mother had asked him to wait with the car while she handled his father's discharge from the hospital, but they had been inside the building for almost an hour. Maybe it was supposed to take this long. But maybe it wasn't. Every time the hospital doors opened, he would look up, only to be greeted by a stranger. But he would still look up every time. 

To pass the time, and stop his mind from dwelling on the worst case scenario, Crowley called Anathema. He'd been meaning to catch up with her for days, but he'd been busy in-between hospital visits and making up for fifteen years of lost time. 

"Hello, stranger," she teased, then, in a slightly softer tone, said, "how is everything?"

"He's being discharged today," Crowley said, unable to keep the mixture of relief and anxiety from his voice. He paused. "I'm scared," he admitted. "Distract me?"

So they talked. Or, Anathema talked, which was fine. It was what Crowley needed. She told him his plants were fine - she had been visiting to water and keep an eye on them, and, in her words, "to keep them company." Nothing exciting had happened at school, but the Them were apparently very worried about him, which brought a smile to Crowley's face. They were also curious about where Mr Fell had gone, which reminded her-

"I heard Aziraphale went with you?" Anathema said gleefully. "So? Is it official, then?"

"Our relationship is none of your business," Crowley grumbled. He realised too late that he just tacitly confirmed all of Anathema's suspicions. "No, wait- fuck- I mean- shit. Bye."

He hung up, cursing himself for being so loose-lipped. She was going to be so smug about this.

When his phone vibrated, he was ready to tell Anathema where to stick her gossip, but it wasn't her. It was a message from Aziraphale.

[Angel ❤️: Is everything okay?]

Aziraphale was back at the Crowleys' house, preparing things for Mr Crowley's return.

[Anthony: Still waiting. House nice and warm?]

[Angel ❤️: Toasty. Kettle full and ready to boil.]

[Anthony: You really are an angel x]

[Angel ❤️: Is that a kiss?]

[Anthony: Too much?]

[Angel ❤️: Not at all x]

Crowley was still swooning at that message when the hospital doors opened, and it was finally someone he recognised.

"Dad!" 

Crowley practically skipped towards him at first, but caught himself after a few steps and corrected himself into a more casual stride. If they noticed, neither of his parents said anything.

Getting his father from the wheelchair into the car was difficult. Crowley would be the first to admit he wasn't the strongest person in the world, but, because of his mother's bad hip, the task fell to him, and he struggled to bear his father's weight alone. But he did, and soon his dad was safely settled in the passenger seat.

The ride home was initially quiet, save for his mother's idle chatter. Despite him being well enough to come home, Crowley felt the need to watch over his father, and it felt odd to be so physically close but unable to focus on him. 

Perhaps in an effort to shake Crowley from his reverie, his father asked to turn on the radio. Some background noise, he said. He'd always liked the radio. And it seemed to help, the atmosphere became more relaxed and conversation started to flow more easily.

The song changed, and Karen Carpenter's contralto vocals filled the car in what Crowley thought was an absurd coincidence. He smiled to himself as his parents talked around him, and quietly sang along.

-

When they reached home, Aziraphale was at the door to welcome them. Crowley helped his mother out of the car first, but struggled with his father. He tried to support him as he got out of the car, but it was proving difficult, and they didn't get very far. 

Mr Crowley glanced over at the front door. "Aziraphale, my boy, would you mind lending a hand?"

In a moment, Aziraphale was there. Together, Crowley supporting his left side, and Aziraphale his right, they soon had Crowley's father safely in his home, settled in his armchair. The kettle was boiled, tea was brewed, biscuits were prepared, and they all sat down around the coffee table. 

Crowley's father looked around the room fondly, clearly very pleased to be home. His gaze fell on Crowley, and he smiled. 

"You know, after everything that's happened," he said, and paused for a moment. He turned to Aziraphale. "It feels so nice to sit down for a cuppa with my family."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it. For now. Thank you for reading through to the end ❤️
> 
> Can I over share for a moment? Writing this made me realise that I want to transition. I thought I didn't need to, but I didn't realise how much I wanted to until I realised I was writing what I wished I had.
> 
> This fic is important to me, and I'm so grateful to you for reading, and especially those who have commented and encouraged me along the way. Thank you ❤️
> 
> And, as always, thank you to my partner for working on this with me and supporting me in so many ways.
> 
> You can find partner at [@cornthea.ig ](http://www.instagram.com/cornthea.it)on insta,  
> And you can find me at [@mausekonig ](http://www.twitter.com/mausekonig)on twitter


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